16. Paul Chevalier

16 – Paul Chevalier

Hector’s knuckles were white with the strain as he gripped the drop-seat restraints. The shuttle shook, rattling its contents—two hundred young men and women—like ice in a martini shaker. They weren’t coming down from orbit or anything; he’d gotten aboard outside Denver and, after a forty minute, high-altitude hop, they were coming down somewhere in the Sonoran Desert. Still, he’d never flown in a military transport before. He’d never flown anywhere—sixteen years in the Reyes Consortium Arcology.

“Don’t you fuckin’ puke on me, Olivares!” Scott laughed, jabbing him in the ribs with his elbow.

“I’m not gonna puke, asshole.” Hector twisted his fists on the restraints, looking up and down the shuttle bay. He wasn’t the only one struggling with the rough ride. He saw wide eyes, wan faces, and white-knuckled grips all over the place. Seeing the other recruits in a similar state did something to calm him—took the loneliness out of the fear.

When he looked across the way, he saw a thin girl with buzz-cut black hair looking at him, her blue eyes searching for his—maybe just looking for a human connection. He felt his spine stiffen, his face relax, and he locked eyes with her, nodding and forcing a smile. She smiled back, her straight white teeth brilliant. Then, the shuttle was down, and the guy with the wide-brimmed hat was shouting at them to move.

“Get up, you rot-infested maggots! Get off your butts and line up! This isn’t a day spa. This isn’t a trip to the gulf, a day at the beach! We aren’t on spoiled-brat time anymore; we’re on Empire time! You’re in the Legion now, boys and girls! Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!”

###

Cool fingers touched his shoulder and jostled him gently. Hector’s eyes snapped open, and he saw Lemon looking down at him. She was dressed, and there was some light in the kitchen behind her. “I’m late.”

“It’s not late, but you were shaking and muttering in your sleep. I didn’t know if I should bother you, but—”

“Just a dream.” He closed his eyes and swallowed. “Just a memory.”

She nodded, stepping back to sit on the edge of the couch. She was wearing tight black leggings and a long blue top that cinched at the waist. “I put your sweatshirt in the steamer, and I would’ve done your pants, too, but you know—” She shrugged and pointed to his legs. “I didn’t want to pull them off while you were sleeping.”

Hector looked at his bare chest. When did I take that off? “Thanks.”

“No problem. You going to wake up now?”

He peered at the clock display floating around on the wall: 0832. “Yeah,” he grunted, pushing himself into a sitting position, his back to the wall.

“I’ll make you breakfast.”

“You don’t have—”

“Grando’s paying me to put you up—least I can do.” She stood and walked around the couch to the kitchenette. “I bought fruit and protein mix last night. Does a smoothie sound okay?”

“Sounds good.” Hector was staring at his hand, turning it this way and that. The cuts and bruises he’d earned fighting in the silo were gone, repaired by the nanites, but he’d picked up a few pale scars on his knuckles. The hand was too thin, his fingers too long. His veins weren’t as visible as he was used to; on his old skin, they’d stood out like tubes. Still, it was a strong-looking hand—capable. He clenched a fist and smacked it into his other palm.

“You good?” Lemon asked, looking up from the blender she’d taken out of the cabinet.

Hector stood and walked around the couch to the bathroom. “Good. We’ll head out around nine.”

Lemon smirked. “Yes, sir!”

###

“Wow,” Lemon said, as they stepped out of her building into the chilly air of the city. “Must be a storm blowing in.”

Hector squinted into the stiff breeze, stuffing his hands into the pocket at the front of his hoodie. It was hard to imagine that the warm city of the night before had become such a frigid place with people walking around in heavy coats, their shoulders hunched, as they hurried to their destinations.

“That’s Mars for you,” she said, leading the way toward the corner. He couldn’t help noticing that she’d put on a coat.

“You knew?”

“I knew the weather was changing, but I didn’t think it would hit this fast. Should we stop for clothes, first?”

He nodded.

“Someplace cheap, or do you want to take a train into downtown?”

“Cheap.”

She smiled. “I know a thrift nearby.”

“I need underwear—” he said, but Lemon waved her hand, interrupting.

“They sell some new stuff, too.”

Hector followed her down the street, around a corner, over a train tunnel, and then into a ground-floor establishment called Foxes. He wouldn’t have known by the name that it was a clothing store, but the display window was filled with wire mannequins displaying their wares. Inside, the place was bigger than he’d imagined from the front window; it seemed to run for the entire length of the building.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Hector wasn’t looking to make a fashion statement; he needed clothes that were functional and that wouldn’t make him stand out in a crowd. Revenge was easier to pursue when you weren’t noticed. That said, the first thing he picked up was a black synth-leather bomber. Though the leather was worn halfway through here and there, it had a high collar, the silky orange lining was in good shape, and the silver buttons were sturdy and high-quality.

He ran his thumb over the raised diving eagles on the buttons, then slung it on, sliding his arms into the sleeves. More important than anything else about the coat, it was a perfect fit with maybe a little room to give. He looked at Lemon for approval, and she nodded, holding up a pink-painted thumbnail.