Song of Redemption Read online

  “Chimpanzee DNA is much closer, but the C-DNA works in the same general pattern and has the same function as our DNA. And within those C-DNA strands, there are similar C-RNA. We haven’t unlocked all of its secrets, but there are some things that are evident. And the first is that there are signs of degradation, and not just that of environmental pressures on the individual. With linear regression analysis, we can see that the mutation rates have been increasing over time, and not in ways to benefit the race. They are breaking down to where reproduction is becoming problematic. The Centaurs have a similar method as ours to fertilize their eggs. But their version of sperm, if I can use the term for simplicity’s sake, is misshapen and malformed.”

  Rev grimaced. They’d taken sperm out of his and Tomiko’s Centaur? And how do they know this wasn’t just a sickly Centaur, one exposed to radiation or something? Unless they had more bodies?

  “Punch, can we have more tin-asses on ice besides the one we found?”

 

  “The similarities of what can happen with devolution are too evident to ignore. Every analysis we run shows the same thing. As a race, they are dying out. A hundred years, two hundred, maybe three hundred years, and the Centaurs will be extinct.

  “Now why this is happening, well, there are two trains of thought. The first is that they are simply an older race than ours, and they’ve reached their sell-by date. The second is that we are about the same age, but they are from a world or worlds where their magnetic field isn’t as strong as ours is, so they’ve been continually bombarded with their sun’s ultraviolet radiation, resulting in far more long-term damage.

  General Sirirat looked over to General Trejo, who nodded, giving her the OK to question. “Doctor Saeed, that is all well and good, and yes, it is interesting. More than interesting, I guess. But we can’t wait a hundred years for them to go extinct. They may be dying, but their paladins keep killing Marines. Their ships blow our Navy’s most powerful ships out of bubble space. How is this going to help us live long enough until they die out?”

  Doctor Saeed smiled then, a smile that made Rev hope he never got on her bad side. It gave him the shivers.

  “Oh, we have no intention of letting them die out naturally. You see, with what we have uncovered, we are developing some species-specific weapons to speed up their march to extinction.”

  “Are you inferring that we’re going to use bio-weapons against them? What about the Torinth Accords?” General Sirirat asked.

  “Last I heard, the Centaurs are not signatories,” she said with a casual shrug. “But yes, we’re developing bio-weapons. And you,” she said, pointing to the Marines in the theater, “you are going to be our applicators.”

  “So, what do you think?” Tomiko asked, reaching up to wipe a splotch of BBQ sauce from Rev’s cheek.

  “Think about what? Our brief or the BBQ?”

  “Ah, both, I guess.”

  “Damn fine BBQ. These ribs are the bomb, and I can’t believe I was here at the hospital for so long without ordering delivery. Glad the colonel convinced the pilots to delay our return.”

  “Well, when a full bird asks you to find a reason why one of the Buzzards can’t take off, you find it.”

  “That and bribing them,” Rev said, pointing to where the crews of the two Buzzards were chowing down on Fat Alicia’s finest, courtesy of Colonel Destafney.

  “And . . .” Tomiko pressed.

  “Knowing they’re dying was surprising, but like the CG said, we can’t wait a couple hundred years for that to happen. About the bio-weapons?” Rev said with a shrug. “That’s way above my pay grade.

  “What I really wanted to know is what makes them tick. You know, like know your enemy and stuff. Like Sun Tzu said. We still don’t know shit, and how can we figure out what they’re going to do unless we know how they think? That’s why we got slammed on TRT-36. ‘No, tin-asses wouldn’t set a trap. No, not them.’ Until they do, and Yazzie and the rest get killed.”

  Rev threw one of the ribs, half-eaten, on the ground as the familiar anger at losing so many friends returned.

  “Hey, pick that up, Pelletier,” Staff Sergeant Delacrie told him. “We’re guests here and not freakin’ barbarians.”

  Rev nodded and picked up the rib. He was embarrassed that he’d let his emotions get the better of him, and he had to admit it was stupid to waste good food because he was still angry. He took a couple of deep breaths to calm back down.

  “Sorry about that. But I really wish that doc had given us something more on how to fight them.”

  “What do you think new weapons are?” Tomiko asked.

  “Just tools. I want to know how to fight them, not with what.”

  He knew he had to get over the deaths of his fellow Marines. Being a Marine was inherently a dangerous proposition, and it wasn’t up to some CES with probably a dozen PhDs to come up with a secret formula to make killing Centaurs easy. What it boiled down to was that it was still up to the individual Marine to get it done. And until then, just live life because who knew what tomorrow would bring?

  He stood there for a moment, looking at the rib in his hand. Tomiko pointed to a trash can at the edge of the tarmac, but he just brushed off a few pieces of grass and bit off another chunk of meat.

  Tomiko rolled her eyes.

  “What? It’s still good.”

  And it was. According to the flyer that came with them, all of the pork was vat-grown from “Blue Belly Argonaut,” an heirloom donor hog from Weller’s World. Rev had never heard of this super hog, but the meat was better than any manufactured pork he’d had back on Swansea. He hadn’t even tried the brisket yet to check out the beef, something he was about to rectify.

  He started to walk over to get some when the sergeant major shouted out, “OK, that’s it. Let’s get loaded.”

  Rev turned to see the Buzzard crews wiping their hands and getting back on board. He ran to where the BBQ was laid out and grabbed a container that still had a few pieces of brisket left as everyone else cleaned up the trash.

  It would have been a shame if he and Tomiko had left before finding out if “Sir Regis Gold Lake” beef matched the quality of Blue Belly Argonaut.

  5

  “You gonna meet us at the E-club?” Hussein asked as they changed out of their workout clothes.

  “Nah, I promised Mala that I’d meet her at the range,” Rev said. “We might be by later, though.”

  “You’re going shooting with her? Now we know this is serious.”

  “Yeah, right. We’re just going to shoot. She’s got a new Franklin .44 and wants to snap it in.”

  “Snap what in, your gun?”

  “Bite me, Hus-man.”

  “Save that biting for her.”

  “Did you say a Franklin .44?” Nix asked. “Can I come with you?”

  “Leave the lovebirds to themselves,” Hussein told him, putting his arm around the sergeant’s shoulders.

  “But I want to try a Franklin out. All the reviews say it’s pretty sweet.”

  “Three’s a crowd. And you, Rev, make sure you shower good. I know you’re all swole up now after our sets, but women like their partners smelling pretty and clean.”

  “Your mind’s always in the gutter, Hus-man,” Rev said.

  “Right where I like it.”

  Rev frowned and grabbed his towel, wrapped it around his waist, and started for the showers. He couldn’t help but see himself in the mirrors over the sink, and Hussein’s comment bothered him. Was he good-looking? He was powerful. That was obvious. But the harness to support Pashu changed the topography of his body. He wasn’t some model with a cut body, that was for sure. He was chunky and more than a little lumpy, if he was honest with himself, and his social arm and the larger sleeve that he had to be able to connect to his IBHU only added to his decidedly unique appearance. The four thugs outside the VGW hadn’t had any problem recognizing that he was different, after all.

  He wasn’t buying into Hussein’s insinuations about Mala, of course. She was just a friend, and they were only going shooting. Hardly a romantic date if that was his goal. But in general, he wasn’t sure if the body in the mirror matched his own view of himself.

  He tried not to let it bother him as he showered, but instead of using the rose soap he preferred, he made it a point of dialing the neutral soap gel instead. Hussein was off base in thinking he had to smell nice just to go to the range.

  The other two hit the showers a couple of minutes behind him. Rev wasn’t up for more ribbing by Hussein, so he rinsed off, hit the sonic-blast, and hurried back to the locker to change. He gave his utilities a sniff and wrinkled his nose. They weren’t reeking, but he could tell he’d worn them over a long day. For a moment, he considered going back to his room and getting into a clean set.

  No. They’re fine for two Marines just shooting. I can’t let Hus-man’s shit get to me.

  He rushed getting dressed and started off. Not quick enough to escape one last shot. “Have fun snapping it in,” Hussein shouted out just as Rev was stepping through the door. Rev raised a middle finger with his social arm as the door swung closed behind him.

  I love him, but sometimes, Hus-man can be a real pain in the butt.

  The base shuttle was just pulling into the stop in front of the gym, so Rev hopped on. This one was going clockwise, so the recreational range was only three stops away. A single civilian was on the shuttle, and she gave Rev’s social arm an eyebrow-raised stare before she quickly shifted her gaze out to the buildings they were passing.

  Prostheses were not as rare as many people might think. It was true that most people went through regen, and even the existing prostheses were almost undetectable by most folk. But now that military personnel weren’t given th
e option for regen, there were many more, and most Marines were opting for the visually obvious options. The civilian was working on a Marine base, so she shouldn’t have been surprised at seeing Rev.

  Or maybe I’m just being a little sensitive right now. Thanks, Hus-man.

  Rev sat silently until his stop, then hopped off. On a base full of training ranges, the recreational range was probably the most popular. Marines like to shoot, and if left to their own devices, would find corners of the base or off-base to scratch that itch. The Corps, in a long-standing practice, felt it was better to manage this proclivity by giving Marines a controlled, safe space, complete with an armory and a cafe. Each rec range had three sections: a shielded energy weapon range, a slug-thrower range, and the “Neanderthal” range where almost any thrown or bow-type weapon could be used.

  Rev entered the range, signed in with a retinal scan, and went to the cafe where Malaika was sitting with a half-eaten burger and fries. Her eyes lit up when she saw him, and she put down the burger, wiped an arm across her mouth and her hands on her shorts.

  “Sorry, I didn’t know when you were coming, and I was starving, so I got some chow. You want some?”

  It had been two weeks since he’d last seen her, and he didn’t know if he should shake her hand or give her a hug, so he took away the choice by grabbing a fry and dipping it in fire sauce before chomping it down.

  “No, I’m good. But you eat. We’re in no hurry.”

  They sat down, and Mala made short work of the burger while Rev helped with the fries. A piece of lettuce escaped her mouth as she tried to hurry, and she shoved it back in with a, “Sorry. Not very lady-like.”

  Rev laughed and said, “But rather Marine-like.”

  The fire sauce started to burn a bit, and Rev took a sip of her WandiCola. Rev was a Coke man, thinking that WandiCola was a little too sweet, but he needed something to cool the fire.

  But then, with Hussein’s teasing fresh in his mind, he realized that while sharing food was normal among Marines, it was also something couples did. “Hey, I didn’t mean to just help myself. Do you want me to get you another straw?”

  “What, you think I’m worried about germs with all the nanos we’ve got running through our bodies? Right.”

  She ate the last fry, licked her fingers clean, and said, “Let’s get some shooting done.”

  They walked over to the armory. She got scanned and told them which weapon she wanted—and Rev wondered just how many she had—and in thirty seconds, the box opened, revealing a darkly blued Franklin .44. Rev craned his head to see it. It was an impressive-looking piece.

  She took it out and handed it to him, watching his eyes intently as he hefted it.

  “Nice,” he said, and not just to be polite. It felt natural in his hand. “Let’s try it out.”

  There were a dozen Marines on the ground floor armory using crossbows and pilums, and two Marines were even using slings. Using ancient weapons was back in vogue, with some reenactors even dressing the part. Rev kept waiting for someone to show up in animal skins—they were using the Neanderthal range, after all.

  Rev and Malaika climbed the stairs to the second deck, which was their destination. A single Marine was on Target 1 at the very end, firing what looked to be a competition air rifle.

  “I like Target 11, if that’s OK with you,” Malaika said. “It’s sort of my thing.”

  “I’m good with that.”

  Malaika put the weapon down on the table and started back to the ammo dispenser, but Rev intercepted her. “It’s on me.”

  “But I invited you.”

  “And you brought the main player. Let me pick up the rounds. Anything specific I need to get?”

  “We can go with range rounds. Forty-fours.”

  Rev entered the order for 100 rounds, then at the last second, ordered another ten jacketless kinetic rounds. If they were going to do this right, then they might as well fire a few lead rounds downrange. Malaika’s eyes lit up when she saw the kinetic rounds.

  “Twenty-five or fifty?” she asked.

  “Let’s start at twenty-five meters to get a feel for it, then extend the range.”

  Malaika sent the target down the twenty-five meters. The targets could go out to fifty meters, but with the range rounds, they could simulate up to two klicks—way beyond handgun range, but within that of many of the long guns.

  She handed the Franklin to him, but he wouldn’t take it. “It’s your weapon. You deserve the first shot. And with a k-round. Make it real.”

  Malaika didn’t argue. It probably would have been better to get a feel for the weapon before moving to kinetic rounds, but it just seemed right to pop its cherry with the real thing.

  They both put on their ear protectors, then she loaded five rounds into the magazine and snicked it in before she stepped up to the firing line. She was all business, lithe and sure of her movements, as she brought it up, aimed, and fired a single shot.

  “Nine ring, seven o’clock,” Rev said as the close-up image popped up in the screen above the target.

  Malaika shifted her stance slightly and fired again.

  “Bullseye.”

  “This is sweet,” she said, holding out the almost black handgun.

  She fired once more, then asked Rev to give her a human target. Rev dialed one in. There was a slight shimmer, then the figure of a clown appeared twenty-five meters away.

  “Very funny.” But she double tapped, hitting the left eye dead on and just nicking the right eye.”

  “It’s like I could just think the round to the target,” she said, causing Rev to turn and stare at her.

  Enough people had seen Rev in action with Pashu that it had to be getting out, but she hadn’t mentioned it to him, and he wondered if she was hinting at something there.

  She dropped the magazine, cleared the slide, and handed it to Rev. “You’re going to love it.

  Rev reloaded the magazine and inserted it into the .44. “As much as I want to kill that clown, can you give me a standard target?”

  A moment later, the round target shimmered into place. Rev fired, the recoil pushing back against his hand. Between his M-49, which was a magring weapon, and Pashu, he hadn’t fired a chemical round since Tenerife. His first shot was in the eight ring and high, but he brought the next two into the ten ring.

  “Clown or something different.” There was a hint of a challenge in her voice, and he couldn’t back down.

  “Clown.”

  He brought the weapon to the half-ready, left side of his body leading. As soon as the clown appeared, he fired twice, then looked up at the screen.

  “Well, you killed the sucker, at least,” Malaika said.

  Both rounds hit the clown’s face, but just high of the eyes. And that hurt. Rev was competitive by nature, but to do worse than Malaika, an infantry Marine, dug at his ego.

  “Hey, we still got a hundred rounds left. Let’s see how we do with them.”

  The range rounds fired a synthetic bullet, designed to be able to mimic the ballistics of any number of types of rounds. A small control panel at each firing position programmed the round, any outside conditions such as wind or precipitation, and range, with anything over fifty meters being simulated. Where the bullet actually passed through the target didn’t matter. Where it would have passed through if it had been a real round was what appeared on the screen. The bullets were far less lethal than any actual round—although they would still smart if they hit someone. Behind the targets, the bullets would be caught in the “range moss” and recycled for use over and over until they finally gave up the ghost.

  Rev and Malaika spent the next seventy minutes putting the Franklin through its paces, firing under every conceivable condition, even pushing the range out to fifty meters. Rev was only mildly surprised that he fired slightly better with his social arm than his organic arm.

  He was more surprised that Malaika was clearly the better shot, and that gnawed at him.

  “Once again, a grunt kicks a Raider’s ass,” she said with a laugh as she broke down the Franklin to clean.

  “It’s your augments,” Rev said, grasping for any excuse.