Ten’s arm hurt like hell. Her mother would hate to hear her say that, but, well, her mother was light years away, wasn’t she?
Ten frowned. Where was she? It was dark-no, her eyes were closed.
How had she missed that? She opened them. They were heavy, barely capable of any movement, but she managed it. Something in front of her was bright.
Ten frowned. Where was she? It was dark-no, her eyes were closed.
How had she missed that? She opened them. They were heavy, barely capable of any movement, but she managed it. Something in front of her was bright.
She tried to move. She could not. It wasn’t only that it was hard to move, but that she seemed to be restrained.
Why can’t I move? She thought. Strangely, the thought didn’t seem to distress her. She just couldn’t move-that was all.
Where am I? How did I get here? She wondered, taking in the bright light in front of her. If it was a light, that meant that it was probably... Yes, it was probably actually the roof.
She could hear something, vaguely. It was at a distance, barely intelligible.
“Doctor... moving.”
“...stood. Bring her...”
She felt something come off of her face, and her lungs flooded themselves with air. She hadn’t been aware of it, but her lungs, nose, and throat had been burning with the lack of oxygen. Her vision swam. She could feel in her fingers again. A faint scent of something filled the air-she couldn’t quite place it.
“Private Silver?” She heard someone say. “Private Silver, can you hear me?”
She rolled her head over to face the voice. It was a man in a white lab coat, a tablet computer in one hand. “Yes.” She said.
He smiled. “Good morning, Private Silver. How are you?”
She furrowed her brow. “I’m on an operating table, with no idea how I got here. In other words, horrible.”
The doctor nodded, and tapped his tablet. “Understood, Private. You’ll have an explanation in a moment-however, I assume that you’d like to get up first?”
She tried to nod, realized that it was a useless gesture when one was horizontal, and said, “Yes.”
The doctor tapped something on his tablet, and something sprung up off of her arms and legs. She assumed that they were the restraints that had bound her.
“Can you stand on your own, Private?”
Curiously, she tried to move. She had been under some sort of anesthetic, after all, but it seemed to have no lasting effect. She could move now-the heaviness that had come over her a moment before was gone. “Yes.” She said. Come to think of it, since she had woken up, she had said little else other than ‘yes’.
“Very good. You were full of a cocktail of of chemicals, stimulants, and nanos when you were medivaced out-we had to use a fairly exotic agent to avoid killing you.” He hesitated for a moment, then said, “I don’t suppose you remember, but how did you wind up with so much DX2 in your system?”
DX2. The cocktail of nanos, hormones, and stimulants they gave to soldiers for the times when you just needed to get stuff done. It screwed you up royally, and you spent days, if not weeks on still other drugs afterwards to fix your body. If you ever used more than three or four milliliters of it in your system, you were transferred out of combat duty-permanent and irreparable damage had likely been done. If you ever went over eight, you were dead.
“How much did I have?” She asked, almost scared of the answer.
“Six.”
She shivered. So close to a lethal dose...
“Your IV implant was damaged when your armor went down-we think it kept injecting DX2 in with the other stims because of that, but we’re not sure.”
Ten nodded. Damn, but that was... Scary. “What was I doing?” She asked.
The doctor smiled. “There’s a... Person here to talk about that, actually, if you’re feeling well enough to have a conversation. You should be-Morton wears off fairly quickly.”
A spike of fear ran through Ten. “You used Morton?” She hissed. That was like... Amputating a leg because someone stubbed their toe.
The doctor didn’t back down. “Yes, Private. We had to operate quickly to save your life-as has been noted, you had an incredibly high concentration of chemicals in your system, and were heavily wounded.”
“Damn you.” Ten hissed. “What’s gone now?”
“Private, Morton doesn’t work like that, at least, not in the dosages we gave you. It does cause the loss of all memories from the past few days, but you still have the same personality, the same memories. Were you to be sent home to your family right now, you’d have no trouble remembering them, your home, and everything there.”
Ten glared at him. “Whatever. Where’s the person who’ll tell me about what happened?”
The doctor nodded, apparently untroubled by her vitriol. “They’ll be in in a moment. You’ll also want to pull on one of those.” He said, pointing to a pile of hospital gowns off to one side. After that, he turned and left the room, leaving Ten stewing in her own thoughts.
As she pulled on one of the disgusting, pale green garments, she went over what she knew about Morton. It was a fast-acting anesthetic that disrupted the brain’s ability to process information, as well as form memories. It operated simply stopped one from being able to process the fact that one was in pain. A side effect was, obviously, the loss of recent memories-and Ten hated it. She deliberately played it low with the combat stims because she hated chemicals making decisions for her. Hell, she barely drank caffeine or alcohol-even those changed the way you thought, the way you acted-they changed who you were.
And no, she wasn’t mormon.
The door slid open. She glanced up from where she was sitting on the table, suddenly conscious of exactly what she was wearing-essentially a single sheet. The... Thing-she wouldn’t venture to say if it was a man or a woman-in the door was wearing sleek, black armor from head to toe. It was from Tactical.
Instinctively, she sprung to her feet, clicked her bare heels together at attention, and saluted. “Private Hortensia Silver, 2nd Battalion R Squad, Gamma Tantaline Command, sir!” This thing was from Tactical-under no circumstances was it to be trifled with.
“At ease, soldier.” it said, voice stirpped of all characteristics via the vocoder. “I think we’ll be speaking too frankly to stand on formalities.”
Thankful, she took it up on its offer.
“Private Silver, I’ll be brief. You have distinguished yourself during the engagement on Tantaline, though you most likely do not remember this. At great personal risk, you rescued several soldiers from a downed gunship, including Colonel Sarai Kastori. This has not gone unnoticed by the Colonel, who has already put your name in for the Naryshkin Medal.
Ten’s back straightened. The Naryshkin Medal was one of the highest honors that could be awarded to Ground Pounders like herself. Named for Marianne Naryshkin, the soldier who had sacrificed her own life to end the Xon war, it was awarded by the First Citizen himself, and only to soldiers who had been highly personally useful to one of his personal lieutenants.
“Tactical has an alternative offer for you, however, Private Silver. Our fleet arm has a project going down in the near future, led by an ex-Tactical soldier. Details are classified, but he’s looking to have at least one solid ex-soldier involved. He’s requested your involvement.”
She shivered. “Would this make me Tactical?”
The Tactical thing didn’t miss a beat. “No.”
“Put frankly, I don’t see why I should. I’m going home on shore leave, aren’t I? I’m Wounded in Action-that gets me honorably discharged with full benefits.”
She could almost hear a flat sort of ‘I’m not buying it’ tone in the Tactical’s voice, even through the vocoder. “Private Silver, you’re being offered the exact kind of opportunity that’s always appealed to you. The ability to be in a position where, not only do you defend your world and species, but you, personally, can make a difference. I’ve bribed, cajoled, and threatened individuals into this project. I don’t have to do that to you. I can be reached at this address-” he pushed a card across the table to Ten, a real one, made out of a dead tree and all, “-And you’re going to end up calling it in the next forty-eight hours.” With that, he stood, and left the room.
For the hell of it, Ten tried to wait forty-nine. She couldn’t.
Why can’t I move? She thought. Strangely, the thought didn’t seem to distress her. She just couldn’t move-that was all.
Where am I? How did I get here? She wondered, taking in the bright light in front of her. If it was a light, that meant that it was probably... Yes, it was probably actually the roof.
She could hear something, vaguely. It was at a distance, barely intelligible.
“Doctor... moving.”
“...stood. Bring her...”
She felt something come off of her face, and her lungs flooded themselves with air. She hadn’t been aware of it, but her lungs, nose, and throat had been burning with the lack of oxygen. Her vision swam. She could feel in her fingers again. A faint scent of something filled the air-she couldn’t quite place it.
“Private Silver?” She heard someone say. “Private Silver, can you hear me?”
She rolled her head over to face the voice. It was a man in a white lab coat, a tablet computer in one hand. “Yes.” She said.
He smiled. “Good morning, Private Silver. How are you?”
She furrowed her brow. “I’m on an operating table, with no idea how I got here. In other words, horrible.”
The doctor nodded, and tapped his tablet. “Understood, Private. You’ll have an explanation in a moment-however, I assume that you’d like to get up first?”
She tried to nod, realized that it was a useless gesture when one was horizontal, and said, “Yes.”
The doctor tapped something on his tablet, and something sprung up off of her arms and legs. She assumed that they were the restraints that had bound her.
“Can you stand on your own, Private?”
Curiously, she tried to move. She had been under some sort of anesthetic, after all, but it seemed to have no lasting effect. She could move now-the heaviness that had come over her a moment before was gone. “Yes.” She said. Come to think of it, since she had woken up, she had said little else other than ‘yes’.
“Very good. You were full of a cocktail of of chemicals, stimulants, and nanos when you were medivaced out-we had to use a fairly exotic agent to avoid killing you.” He hesitated for a moment, then said, “I don’t suppose you remember, but how did you wind up with so much DX2 in your system?”
DX2. The cocktail of nanos, hormones, and stimulants they gave to soldiers for the times when you just needed to get stuff done. It screwed you up royally, and you spent days, if not weeks on still other drugs afterwards to fix your body. If you ever used more than three or four milliliters of it in your system, you were transferred out of combat duty-permanent and irreparable damage had likely been done. If you ever went over eight, you were dead.
“How much did I have?” She asked, almost scared of the answer.
“Six.”
She shivered. So close to a lethal dose...
“Your IV implant was damaged when your armor went down-we think it kept injecting DX2 in with the other stims because of that, but we’re not sure.”
Ten nodded. Damn, but that was... Scary. “What was I doing?” She asked.
The doctor smiled. “There’s a... Person here to talk about that, actually, if you’re feeling well enough to have a conversation. You should be-Morton wears off fairly quickly.”
A spike of fear ran through Ten. “You used Morton?” She hissed. That was like... Amputating a leg because someone stubbed their toe.
The doctor didn’t back down. “Yes, Private. We had to operate quickly to save your life-as has been noted, you had an incredibly high concentration of chemicals in your system, and were heavily wounded.”
“Damn you.” Ten hissed. “What’s gone now?”
“Private, Morton doesn’t work like that, at least, not in the dosages we gave you. It does cause the loss of all memories from the past few days, but you still have the same personality, the same memories. Were you to be sent home to your family right now, you’d have no trouble remembering them, your home, and everything there.”
Ten glared at him. “Whatever. Where’s the person who’ll tell me about what happened?”
The doctor nodded, apparently untroubled by her vitriol. “They’ll be in in a moment. You’ll also want to pull on one of those.” He said, pointing to a pile of hospital gowns off to one side. After that, he turned and left the room, leaving Ten stewing in her own thoughts.
As she pulled on one of the disgusting, pale green garments, she went over what she knew about Morton. It was a fast-acting anesthetic that disrupted the brain’s ability to process information, as well as form memories. It operated simply stopped one from being able to process the fact that one was in pain. A side effect was, obviously, the loss of recent memories-and Ten hated it. She deliberately played it low with the combat stims because she hated chemicals making decisions for her. Hell, she barely drank caffeine or alcohol-even those changed the way you thought, the way you acted-they changed who you were.
And no, she wasn’t mormon.
The door slid open. She glanced up from where she was sitting on the table, suddenly conscious of exactly what she was wearing-essentially a single sheet. The... Thing-she wouldn’t venture to say if it was a man or a woman-in the door was wearing sleek, black armor from head to toe. It was from Tactical.
Instinctively, she sprung to her feet, clicked her bare heels together at attention, and saluted. “Private Hortensia Silver, 2nd Battalion R Squad, Gamma Tantaline Command, sir!” This thing was from Tactical-under no circumstances was it to be trifled with.
“At ease, soldier.” it said, voice stirpped of all characteristics via the vocoder. “I think we’ll be speaking too frankly to stand on formalities.”
Thankful, she took it up on its offer.
“Private Silver, I’ll be brief. You have distinguished yourself during the engagement on Tantaline, though you most likely do not remember this. At great personal risk, you rescued several soldiers from a downed gunship, including Colonel Sarai Kastori. This has not gone unnoticed by the Colonel, who has already put your name in for the Naryshkin Medal.
Ten’s back straightened. The Naryshkin Medal was one of the highest honors that could be awarded to Ground Pounders like herself. Named for Marianne Naryshkin, the soldier who had sacrificed her own life to end the Xon war, it was awarded by the First Citizen himself, and only to soldiers who had been highly personally useful to one of his personal lieutenants.
“Tactical has an alternative offer for you, however, Private Silver. Our fleet arm has a project going down in the near future, led by an ex-Tactical soldier. Details are classified, but he’s looking to have at least one solid ex-soldier involved. He’s requested your involvement.”
She shivered. “Would this make me Tactical?”
The Tactical thing didn’t miss a beat. “No.”
“Put frankly, I don’t see why I should. I’m going home on shore leave, aren’t I? I’m Wounded in Action-that gets me honorably discharged with full benefits.”
She could almost hear a flat sort of ‘I’m not buying it’ tone in the Tactical’s voice, even through the vocoder. “Private Silver, you’re being offered the exact kind of opportunity that’s always appealed to you. The ability to be in a position where, not only do you defend your world and species, but you, personally, can make a difference. I’ve bribed, cajoled, and threatened individuals into this project. I don’t have to do that to you. I can be reached at this address-” he pushed a card across the table to Ten, a real one, made out of a dead tree and all, “-And you’re going to end up calling it in the next forty-eight hours.” With that, he stood, and left the room.
For the hell of it, Ten tried to wait forty-nine. She couldn’t.