![]() As far as Earth’s concerned, there’s only one thing that happened ten years ago. Join up in the corps, come out to Juno, we’ll be partners. You still use her soap on days when you miss her it smells like flowers and baby powder. Full ride to Titan Tech, ships out on the first terraforming mission to Juno, calls home twice a week like a dutiful daughter and runs the hydroponics lab while she watches her kid sister paint her fingernails on the video feed. Your older sister is the star quarterback of the family team. Bronze medal in high school track and field, chorus line parts only in high school drama, grades that aren’t quite bad enough to justify the way mommy and daddy keep cutting back your allowance. Ten years ago, you’re a snot-nosed chicken shit fast food drone in the making. There will be no pain, Phoebe whispers past my ear and into my spine. Nail polish isn’t regulation, not that I could keep from picking it off like I peel away my own skin. I used to do manicures with my big sister. The door shuts behind him and I fiddle, peeling slowly at my hangnails. “What?” His eyebrows ask me if I’m changing my mind. Good luck on the outside, son.” Then he turns to go, broad back in olive drab, his crew cut salt and pepper above the stiff collar. He shuts off the datapad and tucks it back away, claps me on the shoulder. The scent of lemons floods over my tongue. I find I’ve pressed one finger against the visual link terminal on my right temple, like it’s the starter on a car. Do you understand and still agree to these terms?” “. . . as agreed upon in your contract as signed, upon termination of your service you will return all government property issued to you upon entry, including all surgical and neural enhancements. No, worse than a robot robots sound almost human these days. He digs his datapad out of his pocket, calls up the SMOP and starts to read like a robot. “Hate to lose you, son.” Rathbone calls everyone son, whether you got a cock or tits. “Got to go home and take care of things, sir.” Got to get out of here, sir. ![]() One of those things is a lie and we both know it. “You’ve got a solid record, all kills, no collateral, no fails. Like a murderous Santa Claus, shaved into military trim. “Sure you don’t want to re-up?” the Colonel asks. The metal contacts set all around my head feel cold, sending little shocks that make my teeth itch. But despite that I’m sweating, the backs of my thighs sticking to the paper covering the hospital table. I’m wearing a paper hospital gown that doesn’t cover my ass I’ve got a breeze where no breeze has any right to be, from the back of my neck right down where the good Lord split me. People of Colo(u)r Destroy Science Fiction!Ĭolonel Rathbone attends my final debriefing.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |