9 - 2

RETURNING

“Home is what the heart is bound to. Sometimes a place, but always a person.” Saul Tarwitz-Rubenka, The Soul of the Outer Worlds Ch. 1, 8 MIC

There was an ever present and monotonous electric hum as the train flew nearly frictionless above the monorail. Rand let the hypnotic buzzing empty his head as he stared out the window. He watched the network of twisting habitats which made up The Warrens slide away from him towards the horizon. The cracked dome finally disappeared under a carpet of tall grasses and thin trees. Mars-Stone Pine, Rift Cypress and Carob blanketed the plains but slowly thinned as they continued gliding north towards the border and the landscape dried out.

Evening gave way to twilight as they finally floated to their first stop. Camp Talnawakee hugged the border between the Rift Republic and Tharsis. A semi-permanent arrangement of prefab buildings, it had ballooned into a sea of expeditionary tents and flattened dusty grass as of late. The only permanent looking things were the railhead and airstrip. They’d staged here prior to the order to cross, and no one was particularly happy to see it again.

Luckily, they were only stopping for a little bit. 3 and 7 Rifles, allocated to the Corps reserve, had spent most of their time here after securing the breach through The Warrens. They were now locked in desert purgatory, legally having returned to home ground. They seemed rather unhappy about it, too. A Rifleman opposite the platform mooned the train from the top of a Lioness while more of his buddies threw obscene gestures.

Balachenko returned in kind with a gloating smile and offensive double crossed fingers pressed to the glass. “Poor fucking bastards. How long until they rotate back, you think?”

“Weeks or months,” Sgt. Dygalo answered.

“They didn’t really do shit anyways,” Seevan spat. “I’d’ve rather sat here jerking off than go through all that shit.”

Dygalo snorted, “I’m sure they feel just the opposite.”

“Oh, to be a benchwarmer on the Cup-winning team.” Svertson remarked with a glance to Henetto, who snickered in kind.

Balachenko continued returning obscene gestures while a handful of personnel offloaded and a few embarked.

Their fearless leader was still completely knocked out, having wedged her hands under the shoulder straps to keep her arms from flailing as they entered turns. Most of the time the Princess was a light sleeper, but she was out cold now. Rand thought she seemed a little loopy before she passed out, must’ve dropped a no-go by his guess. Anything to make the trip shorter. Before long, they were off the ground again and blitzing through the equatorial desert north. Camp Talnawakee shrunk into a speck as they sped up to near 600kph and continued climbing up the gently sloping plateau.

Maglev wasn’t a luxurious way to travel, but it was cheap. The Army certainly made no secret of cost savings in the comfort department. They hadn’t even been able to secure passenger cars and were stuffed onto ‘dual purpose’ cabins. They’d dumped as much of their kit as possible onto pallets in the middle then ratchet them down under cargo netting. All of the passengers, along with anything that wouldn’t fit was crammed along the side of the cabin in fold down seats as an afterthought. There wasn’t much legroom to speak of. Balachenko, still flush with energy from his mid day nap, prodded Svertson.

“You think they’re gonna cut us for the weekend when we get back?”

Svertson did his best to avoid encouraging him. “I don’t see why not., Wwe just turn the weapons in and be on our way.”

“Oh, man I hope so. Fuck it’s been so long. It’s gonna be Armageddon when we get back,” Balachenko continued.

“Armageddon?” Rand raised an eyebrow.

“Y’know, Arma-a-geddon drunk. Arma-a-geddon some pussy tonight.” Balachenko grinned at his own joke.

Sgt. Dygalo hucked an empty water can in his general direction . “Shut your cock gobbler. Civilized people are trying to sleep.”

Balachenko flinched and swatted the can away. “Man, I wish y’all would stop throwing shit at me.”

Whether Balachenko managed to stop yapping didn’t really matter as far as Rand was concerned. The people that wanted to go to sleep, did. Only a few minutes after they started going again, Seevan was slumped forward against his harness, drooling onto the mainpack wedged between his legs while swaying with the regular motions of the train.

Balachenko made a zipper motion over his mouth and, seemingly satisfied, Sgt. Dygalo closed his eyes again and leaned back. Balachenko kept babbling, but in a lower voice.

“Dude, you gotta come out with me and Sverts. I talked to Yuel, and he said there’s a thrasher at the bricks tonight; they’re waiting on us to start.”

Rand knew that the term ‘thrasher’ wasn’t used lightly. Last time the term was thrown around, most of Rapier got the bright idea to mob over to the 1/5 Grenadier’s barracks and tried to make off with the sign out front. Naturally, they took offense and a brawl erupted, which roped in most of both Battalions before the Marshals rolled up and started arresting people.

Rand spent most of the wee hours of that morning hiding out in the bushes behind the barracks with Restrepo trying to avoid getting caught up. It was such a shitty cold night but, the memory had some warmth now. Crouched out there in a nipping 0 degree cold, passing Restrepo’s flask back and forth in a counter-productive effort to stay warm. Tony made it seem like this was nothing unusual, cracking jokes and making light of it. He never let anything dampen the cheery mood.

There was a hole in Rand’s chest knowing that he was still gone, and always would be. Just one life, one that could be over in an instant. That was all anyone had.

“Wild, right?” Balachenko queried, having been on some tirade the entire time Rand was lost in thought.

“Yeah man, that’s crazy,” Rand bluffed.

“Yeah, I know, right?” Balachenko agreed. Clearly, he wasn’t paying much attention to anything but the sound of his own voice. “I had no idea that Priveda was into that kinda stuff. She was showing me and Stockton picts of her cycle ‘fore she left. Absolutely juiced to the fucking gills, look.” Balachenko swiped vigorously through his messages and flipped the tri-d towards Rand to show him the electric yellow bike. It was all aerodynamic curves, knobby tires, and refined machinery.

“Cyton Super Sport,” Rand identified.

“Is that what it’s called? It's crazy fast. I guess that’s what she actually spends all her fuckin’ money on. Can’t be arsed to come out with us more than once in a season, but she’s got plenty to dump on that.” Balachenko’s mind instantly hurdled topics. “Say, you gonna go buck wild and buy anything we get back?”

Rand thought he seemed jittery. Maybe it was the excitement of being able to go home, or the fact that he’d spent all day sleeping then had sucked down two voltzade to quench his thirst after drinking all his water following Seevan’s little bout of playtime.

“To be honest man, I haven’t really thought about it. Like, there hasn’t been anything to even buy in months.” Rand admitted.

“Check your account. Thirty somethin’ days of prorated combat pay, prize dividend, plus our base pay for five months and seps; I got a cool 350 Libbies sitting in there,” Balachenko encouraged.

Rand opened his comm and accessed his digital wallet. He didn’t even really register the number fully. 432L;19S;9 and 1/2p. He really didn’t spend money as a general rule. After all, why would he need to? He ate at the chowhall in the rear, lived in the barracks and didn’t own or lease a vehicle; his only real active hobby was fishing. That was dirt cheap considering he just rode the tram to and from the reservoir and already had all the gear. He’d never had that much money to his name in his entire life. It was baffling. He had more than half a year's regular pay just sitting there, waiting to be spent.

“I think I might buy a car.” Balachenko babbled.

“And do what with it?” Rand questioned.

“I dunno, I want a car. Like, who else has one in the platoon? Senior, Sergeant Rybeck? Ma’am takes the fuckin’ tram. How fucking cool would that be? Absolutely insane flex, Mihkael Balachenko: Car owner.”

“What’d you even get?” Rand continued questioning.

“Uhhh, what’s Captain Eckartt drive? That thing is slick,” Balachenko thought aloud.

“Vlami Spyder, Balie even with that much Shil down you could not afford that motherfucker.” Rand cautioned.

“Whhhaaaat? It can’t be that much, like 7-800 Libra? I could afford that if I put a big chunk down.”

Rand raised an eyebrow. “Double that. Who’s even gonna give you a loan for what, four times your net worth? Do you even have a civie license, any credit history?”

Balachenko dismissed his concern with a few hand waves. “I got Lioness and Lynx on my Govie, how different can a regular ground car be? Plus, I got cash for the tax and stuff.”

The idea of giving his supposed ‘Senior Rifleman’ financial advice was starting to get to Rand. “Balie, if you’re gonna do that, maybe get something you can actually afford, like buy outright. You still gotta pay parking on base, plus the insurance. Maybe just get like, a Civel, you could actually afford to own that.”

“A Civel? That’s so fucking booooring. You’re really putting a damper on my fun, man. How’d you know so much about this shit, anyways?”

“My dad owns that out of warranty service shop on Biltnow, across from Delman’s suits.” Rand explained.

“That place? Man, I used to ride the tram past there all the time. What’s that blue thing that’s always parked out front?”

“Oh the Stingray? That’s my dad’s.”

“Yeah now THAT’s a car; looks fucking sick.”

Balachenko didn’t seem like he would be easily dissuaded from this sudden obsession, but Rand had questions of his own now, only really tangentially related to the topic at hand.

“Say dude, uh, how well do you know Priveda, anyways?”

“Huh? Weren’t you in the same squad with her?” Balachenko asked.

“Yeah, for like… a few weeks when I first got to the unit. Haven’t got a chance to get to know anyone in 2nd that well. I guess except, y’know .” Rand replied while motioning to the still sleeping Cpl. Seevan

Balachenko rubbed his chin. “I mean, we were in BMT together and in the same company at RTB, but we never really hung out all that much. She hangs around with Peblt, Sarn’t Weiss, and that bitch Volk. Pavish thing maybe. She is Pavish; you know that right?”

Rand raised an eyebrow. “Why does that matter? I think she’s kinda cute is all.”

“Ooooh, I get it now,” Balachenko nodded. “You get chest candy and think you have play. Well, I’ll tell you she has a fucking nasty nic habit.”

“Balie, you chainsmoke on the regular. You are the solar’s biggest hater, I swear,” Rand retorted

“That’s different. She uh, she dips those little nic pouches, and I mean that’s fine and all but, I dunno if you’ve ever looked inside Red 2’s Driver hole or under the deck plates, but she fucking spits the used ones down there; it’s fucking gross. I cannot maintain interest in a woman who lives like that. Though, I’ll admit, she does have a nice ass.”

“Okay, well suit yourself then; doesn’t really bother me,” Rand dismissed.

“Bigshot, are you even hearing me? I told you she’s Pavish too. Like, you know how they are. She’s fucking crazy, like you know I trust her, but definitely not with the shit between my legs. Pavish chick, rides a cycle, in the Army, in the Rifles. Rand, that’s like four huge red flags right there. Plus y’know we’re in the same platoon and all. Little close to home territory,” Balachenko elaborated.

“Okay, but everybody knew about Doc and Sarn’t Weiss. You know Sarn’t Kreiger caught Yuel and Gorshkov going at it in one of the vics before they left and didn’t say anything about it to anybody. No one really seemed to have a problem with either of those,” Rand replied.

Balachenko cringed at the thought of Yuel and Gorshkov resizing each other. He wasn’t prejudiced or anything, or at least he didn’t think he was, but two sweaty men wrestling in the back of a Lioness. Maybe even his Lioness.

“An’ as far as your first point,” Rand continued. “I just think she’s kinda cute is all. I dunno what you got against Pavin.”

“Just go talk to her when we get back.” Svertson suggested while leaning over. “Can’t know unless you try. Ballie’s only hatin’ on Pavin because he was talkin’ shit ‘fore we left and Volk gave ‘im the people’s elbow and laid his ass out.”

Balachenko jerked forward against his harness for a rebuttal. “She fuckin’ sucker punched me!”

“You was askin’ ‘fore it.” Svertson dismissed while simultaneously trying to quiet him down.

Balachenko turned to Rand to plead his case. “Maybe I was talkin’ shit but it was all jokes, swear. I’d had a few by that point and Volk calls me over talkin’ all sweet, acting like she wanted to smooch and then blasted me on the jaw outta’ nowhere. Totally outta line.”

“You were pretty outta line.” Svertson countered.

“All I’m sayin’ Rand, is maybe stay away from Priveda. Those Pavish girls got mortar bombs for hands and attitude problems.”

Henetto leaned forward from just beyond Svertson and concurred with his assessment. “Balachenko was asking for it.”

Balachenko rolled his eyes. “I dunno why y’ even asked me what I thought, man. You seem pretty set, regardless of what fantastic points I make. Just don’t come crying to me when she stomps on yer dick for funsies. I’m tellin’ you man, there’s plenty of normal non-Army girls out in town. Plenty more on Gehen Strasse that’ll show you a good time for a libbie or two.”

“Rand,” Henetto held up a small round plastic tin of pouches and tapped on it. “She likes the cool mint, Vyve, 3mg.”

Rand smiled and flashed a thumbs up back. He at least appreciated the vote of confidence.

Their train was delayed. Sam wasn’t surprised, he sort of expected this sort of thing at this point, but now he had more than a fair bit of time to kill. He’d parked right outside the Regimental Armory. Actually waiting at the platform was a complete waste of time because they had to turn weapons in before they were released to go anywhere else. That, and this was a convenient spot to park. He wasn’t the only one who had the same idea either. The Battalions had sent out their Duty vehicles to ferry the lower enlisted and their stuff back to barracks. Captain Mulluex’s wife was parked right next to him in her husband’s jet-black Luxri, fixing her make-up with all the focus and precision of a surgeon. Evidently, she was an extremely well trained socialite.

Sam glanced down at the paper bag next to him. He hoped they wouldn’t be that much longer or his decision to forgo flowers for something a little more heartfelt might end up biting him in the ass. Another half hour and it would be long past optimal enjoyment temperature.

A few children were unleashed to scamper around the parking while their guardians watched carefully. There were maybe half a dozen young families waiting to be reunited. It tugged at the heartstrings a little. He was more used to being on the other end of the homecoming. He glanced at the paper bag again. He really should’ve gotten something for himself. She wouldn’t notice one little fry, would she?

Digging through the bag he retrieved a handful and shoveled them down. It would be some kind of crime if they weren’t enjoyed while hot.

“Hey, sir!”

Sam glanced to his left through the darkness. “Lachenski?”

The lanky figure finally stepped into the street light. Sam waved a greeting; It was that stupid fucker.

“Yeah, it’s me, sir. How the hell you been?” Lachenski announced while he approached. Sam stood up from off of his tailgate and shook his hand vigorously. It’d been quite a while since they’d last seen each other, since the old 3/5 King FIST team got broken up and everyone shuffled around.

“Good actually. Imel, what’re you doing here?”

Lachenski motioned to his uniform and duty belt. “Well you know what they say, once a shithead driver, always a shithead driver. First Sarn’t Stout finally caught word I ain’t had duty in two years and nabbed my ass. Gotta haul the retards back to the insane asylum.”

“Heh, that sucks but someone’s gotta do it.” Sam sympathized and motioned for him to join him.

Lachenski plopped down next to him. “Eh, it’s not all bad. They’re comping me on the back end. I don’t have to come in until Thursday now; basically I got an extra day. You here for the Princess?”

Sam smirked, “Is that what you all call her?”

“Well, not to her face. I think she hates the implication more’n a little, ” Lachenski chuckled.

“Sounds a lot better than Lt. Runs,” Sam remarked.

“Sir, you know we were just joking about that, right? I mean, we all had the shits, you were just the last one to go.” Lachenski offered apologetically.

“You think that bothers me? C’mon Imel. Honestly, the only thing I’m still really upset about is Sarn’t Quellen stealing my fucking rifle when we took contact that one time.”

Lachenski cracked another grin . “I still can’t believe that shit either.”

“Seriously, I set my weapon down outside for like two seconds, go into the shitter, start pissing out my ass and then start hearing snaps over my head. Soon as I open the door, I see fucking Quellen running off with my fucking rifle. There I am, shit literally running down my leg, mortar bombs dropping like hundred meters from me, and fucking Quellen is sprinting into the distance with my only means of self-protection. You know where his weapon was?”

Lachenski shook his head.

“In the shitter he had just come out of. Stupid motherfucker. He even at least had the opportunity to wipe.” Sam just chuckled at it now.

“You talk to him now about it and he’ll still say it was your fault for leaving it outside the john.” Lachenski added.

“Still a real fuckin’ prick too.”

“Right about that, sir. Looks like they’re finally here.” Lachenski motioned towards the line of headlights rounding the corner up the street from them. A line of autonomously driven white buses stopped on the opposite side of the armory and near instantly a chorus of ‘encouraging’ yelling erupted as the Regiments final stragglers piled off. Riflemen fell into quick formations while mainpacks and kitbags were kicked out from storage under the vehicles and individuals scrambled around to claim their own equipment under a hail of demands to hurry up.

Surely there was no reason to rush, but nothing was ever done at a leisurely pace in this Army. Once all the equipment had been claimed and staged in an orderly fashion, they filed around to the other side of the bunker-like building and formed queues outside letter marked windows, A through M, with few extra in between for the Battalions respective Headquarters and Weapons companies. While the Regiment did have a consolidated Armory, each company had their own window for access; inside, it was identically divided into individual weapons cages with their own custodians and armorers.

Captain Petrova glanced upwards toward the stenciled cutlass above the window to make sure she wasn’t losing her mind and then hammered her fist on the plastic panel next to it several times once again. There was no fucking way some one forgot to tell their custodian to be on standby, right? Everyone knew they were coming back today; the event was fucking televised to the whole Solar, who didn’t know? She knocked again furiously. No answer.

She stomped over one window to Falchion’s already open hatch and shoved a private out of the way.

A sleepy looking Corporal greeted her gaze. “Uh, what’s, what’s going on ma’am?”

She glanced down at his nametape. “Nueman, is there anyone in the Cutlass cage?”

Cpl. Nueman leaned backwards and peered to his left before turning back to her. “Doesn’t look like it, I mean we had a formation for this earlier. Corporal Styles was supposed to come open it. I ain’t seen ‘em yet though, ma’am.”

She pursed her lips and nodded. This was typical, oh so fucking typical, of that piece of human garbage. Malingering ass-wipe. Her patience was already paper thin today.

“Thanks, I’ll handle it.” She dismissed and marched back towards the rest of her company. There were only 14 of them, but they all needed to put their weapons in that window before anyone could go on their way. Now they had to wait even longer because one mongoloid couldn’t show up to his assigned place of duty.

“Senior Willcox,” she called out while motioning him over and mostly out of earshot of all of the more junior ranks. Willcox shoved his comm into his pocket and slunk over to her. “Where the fuck is your Rifleman?” She demanded in hushed tones.

Willcox grit his teeth before spitting out the bad news. “He’s not answering his comm.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she hissed. “Where the fuck is he! It’s nearly fucking midnight. Every other god damn window to this armory is open right now and one of your dickhead section leaders; the one who is signed for the fucking keys to the cage isn’t here?!” She shouted and then stopped herself. Capt. Petrova did her best to suppress the rest of her outburst while biting her tongue for a few beats while more creative expletives bounced around her head. “Link First Sergeant right now.”

“Check rodge, ma’am,” Willcox complied.

“Dygalo!” Capt. Petrova called out and motioned him over with a finger. His head snapped around and he jogged over. “Link the barracks duty and get who-ever else is there to go to shit-wipe Style’s room and break down the fucking door,” She instructed.

Dygalo rolled his head back in disbelief. “He’s really not fucking in there? Oh fuckin’ Mars, that piece of shit. I’ll get somebody to find him, don’t worry about it, ma’am.” Dygalo took a few steps away and started punching numbers while Senior Willcox offered her his own comm.

She snatched it out of his hand.

“1st Sergeant Stout speaking.”

“Hey, First Sergeant, it’s Captain Petrova.”

“Captain? Congratulations, ma’am.”

“Yeah, thanks, but that’s not why I’m calling. Where’s Corporal Styles? Is he on pass right now?”

“No… he’s supposed to be at the armory opening the cage for y’all. Is he…?” Stout trailed off.

“No, he’s not fucking here. I have Dygalo rallying a search party at the barracks, so don’t worry about that part, but what do I need to do to start a Number 31 on Styles for FTR?”

“For failure to report? This isn’t the first time so, I guess I can work-up a charge sheet on Wednesday. You are tracking we’re on a 96 this weekend, ma’am?”

“First I’ve heard of it actually.” Of course Capt. Mulluex would forget to tell her that. “Does Styles have a pass submitted this weekend at all?”

There were a few moments of silence while Stout evidently referenced one of his many tracking documents.

“Starting at 0800 tomorrow he’s going to Waterton until Tuesday.” Stout replied.

“No he’s not. Pull that shit right now, I want him locked down to the city, or better yet, his goddamn barracks room until the weekend is over.”

“Hmm… I think I can make that happen. Let me call Capt. Eckartt just to get the rubber stamp. I’ll let him know what’s up. If Style isn’t over there in say, eh, 30 minutes? I’ll come down there with Senior Nihilie and open the cage up myself, ma’am.”

“Alright, I appreciate it, First Sergeant. Otherwise, we’re all present and accounted for, 14 of 14.” she replied.

“Yeah check, ma’am. I’ll pass that up too. I’ll talk to you later, ma’am.”

Captain Petrova cut the link and dropped the comm back into Senior Willcox’s hands.

She leveled a finger at him. “You better fix that fucking Rifleman of yours, Senior, or I will.”

“Check rodge, ma’am.” Willcox nodded.

Dygalo held up his hand. “Ma’am, I got Kreiger and Verac. They’re gonna go find him.”

“Good, let me know when they do.” She replied and turned away from them to wipe the frustration off her face. Why now? Why today of all days, right when they were so fucking close to just going home and being done with all this. Her heart sank as she watched Captain Wunder dismiss 1st Battalion. They streamed through the turnstiles into the parking lot and the arms of their loved ones while she looked on in soul crushing jealousy.

“Lucy!”

She flicked her eyes towards the sound and in an instant some of the weight was lifted. Sam was standing there pressed up against the chain link fence. She made sure to contain herself and walk over for appearances sake.

“Hey, Sam.” she greeted with a faint smile while working her fingers through the fence to lock with his. Sam tugged on the Captain’s bars on her collar through the fence.

“Those look really good on you.”

“Thanks, today’s been… a day.” That was all the explanation she could manage at the moment. He’d get all the details later anyways.

“What the fuck’s going on? Why isn’t your window open?” Sam questioned while craning his neck over her shoulder.

Lucy tugged at her bangs. “My company’s stupid-ass armorer didn't show up. I have my Rifleman looking for him right now.”

“Really? That fucking blows. I uh, I did get you something that might make you feel a little better though. Catch.” Sam flashed the paper bag with a smile, then took a step back and tossed it over the mem-wire topped fence. She caught it with ease like a game-winning pass and rustled open the bag with barely concealed glee.

“Chino’s? You really do care, huh?” Lucy remarked while ripping a foil wrapped object out of the bag.

“I figured you’d be hungry.” He shrugged; a little humble, a little self satisfied.

“Well then come get your reward, handsome.” Lucy leaned up to the fence and gave him a quick peck on the lips through the chainlink. “You’ll get the rest of it when I get out of here.”

Sam gave a lecherous wink. “Oh, I am looking forward to it.”

“Ma’am, he’s on his way!” Dygalo shouted in the distance.

Lucy rolled her eyes, still smiling. “Duty calls.”

“I’ll be waiting, Beautiful.” Sam replied.

They separated from their chainlink embrace. While she was still stuck here until that idiot actually opened the cage, she suddenly felt better about it. She peeled off half the foil to reveal a lettuce wrapped bouf patty. Onions, tomatoes, ketchup, a little kimchi, and importantly no pickles, no cheese. She couldn’t stand one and her stomach couldn’t stand the other. He remembered down to the last detail. He was definitely getting something extra-special tonight. She brainstormed ideas while wolfing it down and walking back towards her troops.

“Dude, they’re so fucking.” Balachenko announced under his breath while settling down onto his mainpack next to his comrades.

“Yep.” Svertson concurred.

“Who even is that? I don’t think I’ve seen him before.” Rand questioned under his breath.

“You didn’t see her eating with him at the DFAC before the main bodies left? I think Beckett’s his name, Captain type, he's like one of the Fires guys at Reg; y’know one of Corporal Lachenski’s people.” Balachenko answered.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“When's the last time you seen her smile like that? Dude gotta be doin’ something right.” Svertson motioned toward the approaching Princess.

“Must be layin’ S-tier pipe to crack that shell,” Balachenko theorized.

“Oh for sure. High-class lady like ma’am wouldn’t settle for nothing else,” Svertson agreed.

“Kinda uh, kinda disrespectful sayin’ that, isn’t it?” Rand questioned.

“You tellin’ me you want someone getting bad dick to lead us, Rand? Bad sex or no sex, that’s like number one way to make somebody pissed off all the time. She’s happy, we’re happy the way I see it,” Svertson counseled.

“Kind weird, though. I mean, I never really thought about her like that,” Rand added.

“You tellin’ me you ain’t had one dirty thought? Not even one? Have your eyes been working this whole time?” Balachenko questioned.

“I mean, I sorta did at the beginning, but now just seems more ‘an a little weird. She’s like our big sister kinda,” Rand clarified. That was half of the equation. He wasn’t ready to admit the other half openly.

Balachenko threw up his arms. “But you’re fine with the thought of railin’ Priveda? Oh please! You’re such a kid sometimes, Rand.”

Rand shoved Balachenko off his mainpack. “Hey, quiet down with that! I asked you about that shit in confidence.”

“Bigshot’s got a crush and it’s a state secret now, huh?” Svertson teased. “If you wanted to keep it on the down low, prolly should’ve kept it to yourself ‘cause Henetto and her are friends y’know.” Svertson motioned to the Hospitalman in question a dozen meters distant pecking away at her comm.

Rand’s stomach flip-flopped at the thought. The word was already spreading through the Rifleman underground and it was only a matter of time before she caught wind he was interested. Why was this all so nervewracking suddenly? How was he supposed to make some kind of normal impression now? His brain leapfrogged through consequences. She probably thought he was fucking weird now and they hadn’t talked more than a dozen times.

Balachenko dusted himself off and sat back down as Capt. Petrova approached the three of them, offering a paper bag while she polished off the rest of her burger.

“You three goons want my fries?”

“Thank you very much, ma’am,” Svertson announced as he snatched the bag before Balachenko had a chance. The way he saw it, this was the only way there would be any chance at an equitable distribution.

Capt. Petrova signaled the leaders to gather around her. Now free of their weapons, Rapier, Falchion, Longsword and the two stragglers from Claymore had nothing standing in the way of home but her. There was no reason for them to hang around any longer.

“First formation, 0530 Wednesday for PT. Other than that, I’ve got nothing for you. Stay out of trouble; don’t burn down the barracks. Spend some time with your families and keep an eye on each other. Cutlass is stuck here until Styles unfucks himself, but the rest of you can dip. Just pass the word down and give your companies a heads up that you’re all accounted for.”

Her quick brief was met with a chorus of “Check, rodge ma’am.” The leaders scurried off to spread the word, and the Armory cleared out even more as they joined 3rd Battalion and STB who were already loading up in the lot.

Sam was still there, patiently waiting on the tailgate of his Xpedition while chopping it up with whoever the duty driver was. Dalia always told her it was customary to make your man wait on you, but this was getting excessive. There were a little over a dozen other people she wanted to get on their way as soon as possible. Henetto waved at Svertson while she exited and he paused from carefully dividing the fries to return the gesture with a wink. Dygalo and Senior Willcox were smoking some distance away. What a joke this was; she glanced at her chrono, it was nearly 1 AM.

Lachenski offered his ZV pack and Sam waved it off. “Eh, thanks, but no thanks. She’s not a big fan.” Sam motioned towards the armory. “It’s fine if her and I share one, but she hates tasting it on me.”

Lachenski shrugged and lit up while resuming his post on the tailgate next to him. “Y’know, I’m kinda curious, what’s she like outside of all this?”

“What do you mean? I’m sure after all you went through you probably know the real her about as well as I do, all things considered. She’s confident, competitive, direct, and more than a little short-tempered. Although, I get the feeling she’s not working at peak efficiency unless she’s at least a little pissed off. Can be real sweet at times, though, thoughtful too.” Sam offered.

Lachenski exhaled and watched the smoke disappear into the darkness. “You’re right at some level. I mean, it’s hard to keep the guard up the whole time, especially out there, but she’s pretty good at it. How long y’all been seein’ each other, anyways? Better yet, how’d you even meet?”

“I got the homie hook-up actually. Lt. Rinwell, from King, him and I drinking buddies and he needed a plus one. You know Lt. Tiamen from 1st Battalion? They’ve been dating for a while.”

“Real big, Sirenese, tattoos on her face?” Lachenski questioned and Sam nodded affirmatively.

“Lt. Petrova and her were hanging out at the FOS, guess that tracks. Man, Lt. Rinwell’s a little guy; how’s that even work?” Lachenski thought aloud.

“You should see them try to dance,” Sam snickered. “Anyways, it was a ‘you bring your friend, I’ll bring mine’ type situation and we hit it off. Both of us got pretty fuckin’ drunk and went home together. I actually thought I blew it even though I did score because she was gone the next morning. I guess I did something right because she hit me up like a week later for a repeat.”

“And how long did that arrangement last?” Lachenski asked.

Sam shrugged, “A while. Two months in and we were leaving bags at each others’ places. Though, she’d swear up and down I wasn’t her boyfriend. She might still, to be honest. Not long after that she was putting plants in my apartment and mending my clothes, but like as, ‘friends’.” Sam emphasized the air quotes. “We were running like that right up until we left. She tends to keep people at arms length.”

Lachenski flicked his ash onto the ground. “I hardly know what’s going on in her head sometimes. I trust her but, I get the feeling there’s a gap in the face she shows and how she’s really feeling. At least it comes off like that.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better she’s actually a pretty straight shooter in my experience. If she feels some way; she’ll tell you about it. Kind refreshing, a lot of the coy and demure types out there who’ll be pissed off about every little thing you do and not tell you about it.” Sam clarified while watching her through the fence. “I kinda get the feeling with everything that happened while you were out there, she didn’t want to live her life leaving things unsaid. That sorta shit has that effect on people. Though, I also sorta sprung it on her to be honest,” Sam shrugged. “You know me.”

Lachenski nodded. “Yeah, you are a fuckin’ loverboy.” Lachenski glanced towards him and gave a suggestive nod. “How’s she, y’know, else wise?”

Sam side-eye’d him. “Gentlemen’s rules.”

Lachenski threw his head back in protest. “C’mon sir, how long ’ve we known each other?”

Sam caved. “If you must know: shockingly affectionate, but goddamn she can be a tease. When we do finally get around, oh man, it’s worth the wait. When we first hit Talnawakee, I had to have a Doc look at my back because she scratched me up so bad the night before.”

Lachenski was grinning now that all the details were coming out.

“Oh and,” Sam motioned towards his chest and downwards while fighting a similar grin. “Hardware all the way down.”

“Really? damn.” Lachenski shook his head in disbelief. “I guess I thought I kinda saw ‘em through her shirt once. Sure I was tripping though. Can’t blame a guy for looking right?” Lachenski mentioned, testing the waters.

Sam dismissed it with a wave and a smile; he wasn't really the jealous type. “I do love the taste of money don’t you? No tats though, except on her feet and I guess those don’t even really count. It’s one of those Cydonian things. A stigmata, a mark of servitude for them.”

“Huh, I hadn’t heard that.” Lachenski admitted; he’d never even really thought about it.

A beat up Clüner Civel pulled up next to the gate and Senior Sergeant Karoff, Sergeant Kreiger, Corporal Verac and a very drunk looking Corporal Styles, all in civilian attire, jumped out. Styles stumbled through the turnstiles with all of the speed his rubber legs could muster.

“Styles, is that you!” Senior Willcox bellowed.

“C-check, Senior!” Styles managed to slur out.

“Stop!” Senior Willcox shouted while approaching. Cpl. Styles froze in his tracks, swaying sightly. “Why the fuck are you running now!? You know we’ve been waiting on your ass for damn near an hour right!? Start fucking lunging!”

Cpl. Styles tried to steady himself. “Senior, my profile says PT at own pace-”

“I don’t give a shit! You probably should’ve thought of that before you fucking FTR’d so you could get drunk at the bricks! Lunge, bitch!” Senior Willcox screamed.

Cpl. Styles let out a drunken groan and began lunging the last hundred meters to the armory building proper.

“Don’t fuckin’ worry Styles, we’re gonna get you nice and sober tonight.” Senior Willcox barked. “ALL THE WAY DOWN!”

Styles painfully complied and touched his knee to the ground. He stopped halfway to throw up, but managed to make it all the way to the door thanks to Willcox’s vicious encouragement.

“Welcome back, ma’am, and congratulations by the way. I’d salute you but y’know.” Sgt. Kreiger greeted while motioning towards the ‘NO COVER, NO SALUTE ZONE’ sign posted on the armory fence.

“Thanks and don’t worry about it.” Capt. Petrova dismissed the formality. This drunken idiot was in civies; he didn’t have to salute her anyways. “How’s your guys' night been?”

“Pretty uneventful until this came up. Already put my girls to bed and was about to head over to grab our new Sergeant when these two link’d asking for a ride.” Karoff responded.

“Well, I appreciate you coming out this late.” Capt. Petrova thanked.

“They did all the real work.” Karoff motioned towards Krieger and Verac, the latter of the two still had a beer in his hand. She raised an eyebrow.

“C’mon, ma’am, just having a little get-together. Nothing crazy,” Verac assured while sipping at it.

“Uh-huh. I’d like to make it through one weekend without getting called into work, alright?” She warned.

“Yeah, check rodge, ma’am.” Cpl. Verac acknowledged while throwing a mock salute.

Cpl. Styles struggled to his feet at the Armory’s door, then waved his wrist in front of the scanner and knocked. A few moments later the Duty-NCO buzzed him in and he disappeared inside.

“You need a ride, ma’am? These two can take the van back to the barracks; I’m already gonna drop Dygalo off,” SSgt. Karoff offered.

Capt. Petrova shook her head and motioned towards the only other vehicle still left in the lot. “My boyfriend’s got it covered. I’ll see you all on Wednesday, and no sooner, alright?”

“Yeah, see-ya ma’am.” Kreiger waved while she moved toward their window. The lights blinked on inside and the hatch finally, mercifully, opened. The last of the last rose to their feet, cleared their weapons and fed them in through the hatch butt-first one at a time while she fell in the back of the line.

Capt. Petrova handed her rifle off and paused. “Styles.”

He stared at her expectantly while he sent the bolt on her rifle home. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Your pass is revoked.”

Defeat washed over his face. She buried any outward satisfaction: the look of resignation was all she needed. If he was just where he was supposed to be, that wouldn’t have been necessary. As far as she was concerned, a nice bout of extra-duty and restriction would help fix his problem.

She turned away from the window towards her own troops, who were all standing around awkwardly waiting for her direction.

“What the fuck are you all doing? Go home!” She shoo’d them away with her hands. They glanced at each other for a moment and then sprinted towards the turnstiles. She threw on her mainpack and picked up her kit-bag while Senior Willcox pestered her with the last bit of information.

“I’m gonna stay back and handle Styles. Have a good weekend, alright, ma’am?”

“Yeah, you too, Senior!” She threw out while speed-walking away. She had to get out of here before anything else came up and she had to make Sam wait anymore.

They both rose from their seats on the tailgate and moved back towards the duty-van. Lachenski hammered the unlock on the keyfob several times. His passengers began throwing their luggage in the back as quickly as they could manage and piled in.

“Good seein’ you, sir. Don’t be a stranger, alright?” Lachenski waved as he climbed into the driver's seat.

Sam returned the gesture.“Yeah, deuces, man.”

Lucy finally stepped through the gate and wordlessly held out her kitbag to him. He just smiled and threw it over his shoulder. “Your place or mine?” He asked while they walked to his Xpedition.

Lucy chucked her mainpack into the back. “Mine please. I’ve got to put-away all this shit.”

“No problem, princess.” Sam jested while tossing her kitbag in after it and slamming the tailgate up.

“Oh my god Sam; do not start with that,” Lucy groaned. “Who even told you about that? Lachenski?”

Sam continued to prod her for fun while he climbed in.“What, you don’t like it? I think it’s cute.”

She settled down into the passenger seat, pausing to let out a sigh of both relief and exasperation before staring him down. “Puppy, please.”

The duty van peeled out followed by Karoff’s Civel, leaving them alone together in the now empty lot. Sam mashed the power on and that stupid David Tomorrow song started playing while a cheesy smile crept over his face. A setup. He knew exactly what he was doing wearing those tight khakis and that vanilla scented cologne she mentioned she liked once.

“…oh how my heart has yearned for you…”

Their eyes stayed locked for another moment before the tension finally peaked and they pulled together for a kiss. It was immediately followed by a more passionate sequel as they felt each other through their clothes. Sam ran his hand up the inside of her leg and she mirrored the motion with gentle touches under his shirt that crept lower and lower. His hand slipped inside her waist band. She finally broke the kiss while smacking his wrist lightly. He quickly retracted it with a grunt of mock frustration.

“Let’s not ruin our appetite,” She teased while wiping her mouth.

Sam drummed his fingers on the steering wheel to ease the craving while eating her with his eyes for another while the song finished. He let out another deep breath, snapped his gaze forward and viciously threw the vehicle in gear. Sam obviously wasn’t feeling very patient judging by the way he ripped out of the lot.

Rand had a beer in his hand before he even made it up to his barracks room. It was exactly the way he’d left it; just a lot dustier. He threw his gear into the closet and then ripped off his slave-suit as fast as humanly possible, exchanging it for the shorts and a patterned button up he’d staged exactly for this moment. He slipped sandals on and was back out inside of two minutes.

The barracks was already bedlam and had been for some time. 1st Rifles’ home was smack dab in the middle of Camp Rashkigi, straddling ‘O’ Street. The Battalion and Regimental CPs were directly across the street from their respective housing. Their motor pools were the opposite direction behind them. Each barracks building had three stories of outward facing rooms which opened onto catwalks that circled the building's perimeter. The barracks buildings themselves were organized into groups of five blocking off a central pentagonal court-yard, which everyone confusingly called a quad. All the letter companies had their own barracks with Headquarters and Weapons sharing the last one.

Rand’s room was on the 3rd floor roughly in the middle of the ‘Mackie Hall’. Cutlass’s barracks was named for some long since passed service-cross winner. From his perch he could see the debauchery in full swing. Despite the fact it was nearly 0130 everyone was still outside enjoying the mild weather. Someone had filled a kiddie pool and a section’s worth of Riflemen were crammed inside, drowning themselves with liquor. There were a few tables for pong and music was blasting out of speakers. Some people were dancing, but everyone was generally making an ass of themselves. At least most of the trash had made it in the can.

Rand snatched up his beer and downed most of it. If there was any secret to enjoying this kind of thing, it was to be drunk enough you couldn’t be counted on to chaperone anyone else.

As he was making his way down the stairs he bumped into someone familiar, looking rather more scabby than the last time he’d seen them.

“Corporal Muchen?”

“Rand! Hey kid, nice of you to finally join us!” Muchen greeted, grabbing him by the shoulder and shaking him roughly. It was intended to be a friendly gesture, but Muchen was more than tipsy.

“Yeah, we just got back. You look good! Everything doin’ alright?” He asked.

“Oh yeah, I’m preem.” Muchen rubbed a skinpatch on his neck. “Shit just itches like hell now. Was pretty rough for a while but I’m Gio now.”

“‘S good to hear, Nikolaev alright?” Rand questioned.

“Yeah, he’s soakin’ right now,” Muchen motioned towards the kiddie pool. The present occupants, Nikolaev included, were all holding drinks and passing around a vapor-pen. “Say, if you’re lookin’ for Priveda, I think she’s over there by the tables.”

Rand locked up. Word spread frighteningly fast around here. Muchen just laughed and thrust his drink into Rand’s hand. “Getchu some liquid courage boy and have at ‘er”.

“I uh, actuall-” Rand started to protest.

“What’s a-matter? C’mon kid. Drink!” Cpl. Muchen encouraged while moving uncomfortably close and looming over him. Rand tipped the drink back as ordered. He nearly choked after taking the first sip: it was maybe 20% soft-drink and 80% liquor. Muchen lifted up the back of the cup forcing him to down the rest with an encouraging, “Finish strong, warfighter!” then slapped his shoulder and continued up the stairs.

Rand wheezed and fought the urge to spit-up the evil he just consumed, but managed to force it to stay by chasing it with the rest of his beer. He needed another one of those already.

Cpl. Seevan disappeared into his room and cut the lights. Balachenko hadn’t even bothered to take off his uniform and Svertson was nowhere to be found. Rand sort of had an idea of what he was up to already, or who. Yuel was holding Balachenko’s feet over his head while he slurped greedily from a keg like a wild animal. Everywhere he looked, more debauchery. Stockton hurled a beer bottle into the middle of the quad and in the general direction of Rapier who were holding an identical event some distance away.

Not a moment later the door to the barracks duty hut flew open and Sgt. Rybeck stormed out. “Hey retard! Go pick that shit up right now!”

Stockton belched out a drunken, “Check rodge, Sergeant!” and staggered in the general direction of the ejected article.

Sgt. Rybeck was already on a tear, thrusting his log-book at the second story catwalk “You! Turn around!”

A pair of figures with lit cigarettes in their hands innocently pointed at themselves.

“Yes, you two! What the fuck does that say!”

They turned to face the large ‘NO SMOKING’ sign painted behind them and begrudgingly extinguished their smokes. Stockton tripped over his own feet and laid in the grass motionless for a worryingly long moment and then held a beer bottle upwards. God only knew if it was actually his.

“I found it Sarn’t!”

“Good, now throw that shit away like a civilized human being!” Rybeck shouted.

“CHECK, SERGEANT!” Stockton screamed at the top of his lungs with all the drunken belligerence he could muster, then flopped back down in the grass.

Rybeck searched for his next target. “And you goons! That fucking pool better be gone by first call! You fucking goons will not prevent me from getting off this duty on time!”

The present occupants groaned a unified “Ahee-a, Sergeant”. Satisfied, Rybeck stomped back into the duty hut.

“They been like this all night?” Rand asked no one in particular.

“Oh yeah, since final formation.”

Rand jumped. He still was more than a little jumpy and the person behind him did nothing to ease his anxiety.

There she was, looking absolutely as little like a Rifleman as possible, not that he was complaining. Priveda had her sun-bleached chestnut hair down, sort of couched over her left shoulder in a stylishly messy way. She was fully resplendent in a vogue healthy sheen of makeup with tasteful dark eyeliner accentuating her sharp features. She had on a sleeveless see-through lace top with a matching black cammi on underneath for modesty's sake. It was Priveda though, so it cut-off around her midsection and a large tattooed sword peaked out above and below the fabric. Its hilt started just above the low V of her top with its blade running down along the center of her abdomen, skipping under her studded navel in an artistically rendered wound, then vanishing again into her fitted jeans. He really wanted to see just how far down it went.

Priveda either didn’t notice or didn’t care as his eyes wandered downwards while she addressed him. “Word’s out you were looking for me.”

Rand restrained himself and rubbed the sunburn on his neck while looking away. “Well, uh, not exactly-“

Rifleman Milano ambushed Rand, hooking an arm around his neck and jerking him off balance.

“Now listen here Priveda! This guy! This guy’s the best one I know!” Milano announced. “I fucking love this guy, alright!” Milano leaned forward and planted a wet and sloppy right on Rand’s cheek. He really hoped she couldn’t see the beet color his face was turning through the darkness.

“You know this guy ran 200 meters through a hail of bullets to save a fellow Rifleman? I fucking love this guy!” Milano reinforced while moving in for another drunken smooch.

Gorshkov pulled him off by the collar before Milano could complete the motion. “Milano! C’mon let’s get you to your room,” Gorshov announced.

Rand wiped his cheek while Milano was hauled away.“Sorry.”

Priveda’s smirk gave way to a smile and she burst with laughter. “Sorry? About what?”

“I-uh, dunno.” Rand struggled for a redirect. “D-do you want a drink?”

Priveda raised her mostly full cup while still smiling.

“Okay, well- I need a drink. I’ll be right back.” Rand bolted away towards the cooler just as Sgt. Krieger and Cpl. Verac returned with bags full of additional provisions.

“Hey killer, you doin’ alright?” Krieger asked with a hint of concern as he watched Rand frantically dig through the ice. Rand turned to him looking absolutely distraught.

“Sergeant, you gotta help me; I’m blowing it right now.” Rand begged.

Krieger paused while dumping most of a case of beer into the ice chest. “Excuse me?”

Rand just stuttered some more. He looked fairly shaken up by Krieger’s estimation. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, Priveda-“ Rand finally managed to spit out motioning in her direction while she watched thoroughly amused. Krieger held up his hand; he had all the information he needed.

“Not-to-worry Rand, not-to-worry, I know exactly what you need to do.” Krieger counseled while barely concealing his joy that he was getting a chance to watch this unfold first hand. “You go straight back there and you tell her she looks nice. Like just pick something out; doesn’t matter what, alright? And you just free wheel the game from there, okay?”

Rand nodded vigorously.

“Drink this one now and take another with you for luck alright?” Kreiger added while handing him yet another beer. Rand could feel himself getting drunker by the second, but did as ordered and downed the one in his hand, dropped it on the grass and snatched the other from Krieger’s outstretched hand.

Rand marched back over towards Priveda with renewed confidence. She was in the exact same spot, in full view of his whole previous exchange, still smiling the same bemused smile. Rand took another drink before proceeding, he was quickly losing count of how many he’d had.

“Sorry,” he opened.

She shrugged. He cursed himself and brainstormed ideas while looking right at her. That was it.

Rand tapped on his nose. “Is that new?”

Priveda touched the nasallang bar running through the middle of her nose. A tiny silver chain ran over the bridge linking the two ends. “This? I’ve had this for a while. I just don’t wear it in uniform.”

“Oh well, it looks really good on you,” Rand tried to mention casually.

Priveda smiled again and pulled at his untucked shirt, rubbing her thumb over the fishing rod and trout patterned fabric. “I like your shirt. It’s kinda corny; I love that sort of thing.”

His favorite shirt suddenly seemed childish, but there was something in her look that seemed sincere. Maybe it was her lingering touch that was distracting him. He played out his hand and touched her arm gently, tilting his head to admire the large predatory cat glaring through tall grass tattooed on her right shoulder and upper arm.

Priveda bladed her body slightly towards him for better view while moving closer. “See, that’s new. Cool right?”

“Money well spent for sure.” Rand admired.

“It was like 10 Libra at the ink shop by the Reservoir. You gotta get it done by hand if you want the real experience. I got another new one on my thigh you should see.” Priveda suggested while moving his hand downwards.

Rand totally missed the hint, stopping it at her hip, but he seemed more than happy to continue the mutual but rather chaste touching.

“You think about getting anything done since we’re back?” She asked while touching his chest.

“Hadn’t really thought about it at all, but that does sound cool.” Rand replied with a thoughtful look, obviously considering it for the first time.

Priveda measured how to proceed. Hot, but oblivious, figures. It was evident now that he hadn’t been avoiding her. Her mind also wasn’t playing tricks on her either and she really had caught him staring all those times before. Her schwesters were right as usual, eyes don’t lie.

He really was just busy. Fully engrossed in all that Ahee-a nonsense. Going the extra K, volunteering for every fucking detail. That and he happened to be Ma’am’s favorite errand boy. What time he wasn’t sucked into work his buddies were hogging his attention. Even at Mess, that moron, Balachenko, hauled him away before she could get him alone. She grabbed his hand again. Fortune favors the bold.

“It’s kinda loud out here. Why don’t we go to my room?” She suggested while stringing him along and away from the quad.

“S-sure!” Rand blurted out in surprise, things were going swimmingly now.

Sam stopped kissing her neck long enough for her to actually unlock the door to her apartment. The lights in her entryway blinked on without issue and they were shortly followed by the ones in her small split kitchen-living room. Everything seemed exactly the way she left it. Nice, neat and organized, even the plants on her balcony looked healthy. Though, there was something slightly off.

“Little musty in here.” Sam mentioned while making his way inside and setting her kitbag down next to the couch.

“Is it?” she questioned while following him inside. She wasn’t sure if it actually was or he was trying his hand at another suggestive joke. Whatever. This hearthblock was old and small, but it was dirt cheap and close to the Fort Fortune main gate so she hardly cared. Lucy pulled her pistol off her belt, setting it down on the table while Sam settled onto the couch. He beckoned her over with a smile and she climbed on top of him to resume their celebration. The excitement was getting to her, but responsibility plucked at her mind. His hand was under her bra when she pulled away again.

“Let me put all this shit up before we get any more carried away.”

Sam rolled his eyes and leaned away from her, throwing his arms over the back of the couch while she straightened herself out.

She stood up from his lap and grabbed her pack and kitbag while moving towards the bedroom. “You stay right there Puppy. I just need to freshen up.” Lucy winked.

He knew the ‘special occasion’ game well enough by now and didn’t even bother fixing his belt. She’d make him sit on the couch for fifteen or twenty minutes to stew with anticipation and eventually return out that same door, all dolled and up wearing something lacy and enticing. He could hardly wait, just smelling her again was driving him crazy.

Lucy threw open the door to her bedroom and the lights blinked on. She let out a shriek.

Sam bolted upright, hurriedly refastening his belt and scrambling to her side. Her bedroom was coated floor to ceiling in black mold. Lucy covered her mouth and nose with her hand and rushed inside, throwing open her closet. She let out a frustrated growl while inspecting her white dress uniform jacket. It was totalled, coated in mold just like every other item in the room. She threw it down and rushed out of the room to stomp circles around the couch.

Sam stepped into the bedroom, leaning over the climate unit in the corner. The display was flashing a muted red light and water was dripping out the corner onto the carpet.

“Piece of shit must’ve given up the ghost while we were gone.”

He cursed the cock-blocking machine a thousand times in his head while barely containing his masculine urge to smash it to pieces. Things just kept coming up. He was right there too! and she kept fucking teasing him. Sam had to take a moment to put things in perspective before he could face her again. They couldn’t both be mad; that never worked. Be supportive.

Lucy collapsed onto the couch burying her head in her hands in impotent frustration. Sam grabbed her bags and moved them back out into the living room while Lucy switched to gnawing on her pinky nail.

“You’ve got renter’s insurance right?” Sam asked.

“God fuckin-” Lucy took a deep breath. “Yeah… I really did not want to spend my weekend dealing with all that shit though. At least it’s just stuff…”

“Let’s just go to my place. You’ve still got a bunch of clothes there. You’re free to stay there as long as you like.” Sam wrapped a comforting arm around her and she seemed to relax some. “We’ll figure this stuff out later.”

Lucy closed her eyes. “I’m gonna kill the fucking block-manager when I see him.”

“Relax, Beautiful. We can just crash at my place and figure this out tomorrow.” Sam suggested while kissing her forehead.

Lucy finally resolved herself after another few moments simmering and stood up, spinning around to face him. “Don’t get it twisted Sam; we’re fucking when we get to your place. I don’t care if it's a smoking ruin when we show up. I will not be denied.”

Sam shot up off the couch with renewed vigor. “Well then Princess, let’s get you to another castle!” Sam lunged forward. Lucy let out a squeak of shock as he threw her over his shoulder.

He took the rest of her gear up in each hand and staggered forward under the load while she giggled and kicked her feet. Sam marched forward implacably toward the door and dropped one of her bags to open it. She twisted and settled into a more comfortable position. “Sam, my Kelter.”

“Oh, right,” Sam marched back and spun both of them around.

Lucy snatched her holstered pistol and cover off the table. “Okay, we can leave now.” Lucy slapped his ass with her free hand. “Double-time!”

Sam locked the door behind them and rushed down the hall while she squealed with glee from his shoulder.

It was definitely a barracks room, also definitely a girl’s. The layout was nearly identical to his own but mirrored. Priveda had taken the liberty of covering the linoleum floor nearly completely with a thick and soft carpet. Her bed was piled with comfortable looking pillows and soft blankets. A strip of purple LED mood lighting ran around the edge of the ceiling and a few rock lamps gave the only lighting. It even smelled like flowers here instead of reeking of chemical cleaning products. The walls were covered with framed posters. To his surprise, there was a lot of stuff he recognized. There was a big print of the cover of Dual-Sport magazine featuring the Cyton racing team opposite her bed. Pinned above it was the red harp flag of Pavin, that was to be expected. They all were obnoxiously proud in his experience.

Priveda locked her door behind them and settled onto the bed and motioned him over. He followed and sat down beside her. He was still pretty baffled he’d gotten this far, and terrified he’d find some new way to fuck it up.

Rand motioned over to the poster opposite them. “I knew you rode, but I didn’t know you were that into it.”

She perked up when he mentioned it, petting his arm encouragingly. “Oh yeah! I’d love to race for real some day; y’know after all this.”

“That’s your Super-Sport parked out front, right?” He asked while examining her. Now she was really smiling.

“Yeah, that’s my girl Mindy.”

“How’d you like it? I was thinking about getting something now that we’ve got all this money. I heard they’re a little squirrely.” Rand was only half lying.

“Tiny bit unstable at around 130-140. If you know what you’re doing it’s no problem. You get a Vlami and the fuckin’ rider-assist will go crazy if you actually push the cycle to its limits. Cyton is a professional’s choice.” Priveda relayed pridefully.

Rand nodded thoughtfully.

“If you’re really interested, I’ll take you for a ride later when we’re both a little more sober, then you can get a feel for it yourself,” Priveda offered.

“I’m down,” Rand agreed; that did sound exciting.

“I’d actually like to take you for a ride right now.” Priveda added with a predatory slant while caressing the cute mole on his chin.

The suggestion went right over Rand’s head and he shrunk away slightly. A tinge of worry hit her that she was making him uncomfortable.

“Priveda. Actually, it feels a bit weird calling you that, when we’re in here- like this.” Rand blurt out.

“Siobhán,” she offered. “Don’t ask how to spell it, you'll only get confused. Yours?”

“Balmetrio if you can believe it, but do not, for the love of Mars, call me that.” Rand returned.

“What do you prefer then?” She asked curiously.

“Theodor is my middle name, I like Theo a lot better.” He answered while looking away from her. There was a long bout of silence while Rand tried to put something to words.

“Siobhán, doesn’t it feel more ‘n a little weird being back here like this? Like, I mean, not this.” He paused glancing at her hoping that he hadn’t caused any offense. “I like this; I really like this.” Rand emphasized while touching her leg before continuing. “I dunno how to say it exactly.”

“You can try, Theo. I’m not judging or anything,” she offered.

“I feel… I feel kind of guilty being here. Like, it wasn’t that long ago we were all really in the shit. Y’know life and death, getting shot at. I get this feeling like I shouldn’t be here. Like, I dunno um, Doc Restrepo. Tony. What happened to him… I just kept getting lucky. Like, over and over again.” Rand paused for another long moment. “He only took one chance and lost. It isn’t fair.” He trailed off again and examined the posters on her wall. “Sorry, I’m not great at explaining what I mean sometimes.”

Priveda let the thought hang for a moment while searching for the right words.

Corporal Verac had a cup pressed against the wall. Balachenko and Tybalt both leaned in closer. Sgt. Kreiger loomed from another two steps away.

“Are they fuckin’?” Balachenko questioned much too loudly.

Tybalt and Verac both shushed him while they tried to listen in.

“Gus, I’m telling you they’re gonna smash, and you’re gonna pay me that libby you already owe me.” Sgt. Rybeck announced from the doorway.

“Rand has no play. C’mon you really think he can seal the deal Dan? They’re still just talking.” Kreiger retorted.

“Yeah, and I’m telling you, Maude told me Priveda had eyes on him ages ago. She’s gonna get what she came for; you saw her out there.” Rybeck responded.

“Having Muchen feed him extra was not fair.” Krieger leveled a finger at Rybeck.

“That is fair. You had an opportunity to sabotage him and gave him like, half decent advice. You missed your chance.” Rybeck dismissed with a wave of the Duty logbook.

“Yeah, in the interest of fuckin’ fair play shithead!” Krieger snapped back. Verac, Tybalt and Balachenko all instantly shushed him again.

Rand and Priveda both stopped their conversation and looked at each other suspiciously.

“Did you hear that?” Priveda asked.

Rand held his finger up to his lips and pressed his own ear to the opposite wall and motioned for Priveda to do the same. The two Sergeants were bickering about something.

“..Gus that fucking libby is as good as mine! Just admit you’re wrong, you already owe me that shit anyways! Rand is gonna taste some of her sweet Pavish virtue and you are gonna pay up.” There was a chorus of shushing noises muffled by the wall. Priveda flashed him a knowing look.

Rand banged his fist on the wall loudly. “Leave us alone you perverts!”

Verac flinched away from the wall and rubbed his ear. “Sarn’t, I think we’re made.”

Krieger stormed out of the room in frustration.

Rybeck chased him out into the quad. “Where the fuck are you going Gus! The bet’s still on!”

Balachenko stood and snatched up his cup. “This shit is taking too long anyways. I’m going to bed.”

Verac sighed in agreement and Tybalt followed him out the door while completely ignoring Milano who was passed out on his bed next to a pile of vomit.

Rand settled back down onto the bed. “Sorry about that.”

“Theo, it’s not your fault they’re acting all weird,” Priveda brushed it off. There was another bout of silence while they settled back down and she studied his expression carefully.

“About what you said before. I don’t think it’s fair to you. What happens, happens.” She stroked his hair and he didn’t pull away this time.

“All those people who didn’t make it back, y’know, our friends. They wouldn’t want us carrying around some kinda misplaced guilt for the rest of our lives. When I ride and I mean really ride, I feel free because I know every moment matters because it could be all over in one. Don’t spend what time you’ve got regretting.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Rand agreed.

“If anything, I’m sure Doc would want you to, y’know, live a little.” Priveda continued while creeping closer still.

“Yeah.” Rand let out a nervous breath as her face crept to within a few centimeters of his.

“So live a little,” Siobhán encouraged while closing her eyes.

Theo finally let go of his worries as their lips touched.

Lucy felt fully relaxed for the first time in months, maybe years. Even with the sheets clinging to their naked sweaty bodies, she couldn’t imagine a place that she’d rather be, or anyone who she’d rather be with. Sam sleepily pulled her closer. Safe. He always knocked out quickly, but he also was on the wet spot, so she could hardly complain. The first rays of sunlight were peaking through the curtains as she stared up at the ceiling. Heaven is a familiar bed with your lover nuzzling you all over.

END PART 2