Son of Justice (21 page)

He reread the mission objective again, wishing he had his father’s wisdom and experience to help him decide how to proceed. But he had neither. Nor did he have the time. In addition to being awarded points for hitting targets, the overall exercise was timed. A more rapid completion resulted in a higher score, and they had already lost too much time.

He made his decision.

“Okay, listen up,” Eli began. “You’ve all read the mission brief. Any questions?”

“There are only five of us,” Turner replied. “Who’s going to take out the sixth target?”

“No one,” Eli answered. “We take out five and leave one on the table.”

The team shared looks, and Eli continued, not waiting for further questions.

“Aquino, you’ll take the Boomer. Ming and Wagner, you two take the pulser rifles. Turner, you take a Ginny.” Eli looked to each person as he issued assignments and received understanding nods in response.

“I’ll take the Ninny.”

It was a gamble taking on the sniper target, but one he felt was worth taking because of the time the team had already lost. The seven additional points that the Ninny target offered might be the difference between him and his competitors, and he refused to leave the most important target uncontested.

“Grab your weapons and assume your positions. Aquino, we’ll wait for you to take out the tank with the Boomer, then we’ll fire on our targets.”

The members of the mission team moved to the crate and picked up their assigned weapons, then moved into their designated positions. The Minith in charge of preparing the mission had clearly identified each target’s firing lane so there was no confusion on where each of them needed to be. Eli picked up the Ninny and inspected it closely. The others followed his lead with their own weapons. Once he was satisfied, he nodded to the team and motioned for them to take their positions. He watched as each person settled into his or her firing lane and prepared their weapons. He then moved to his own lane.

A brief look downrange offered no sign of the plate-size target he would need to hit. He anticipated that would change once he activated the rifle—with its integrated magnification scope—into his armor’s weapon control system. He passed his thumb over the sensor embedded into the rifle’s stock to initiate the activation process. Two seconds later, he received the green flash and accompanying beep that indicated the pairing was successful. He lifted the weapon into position against his shoulder and said, “Ninny sight.”

As expected, the right side of his face plate immediately lit up with the view as seen through the rifle’s integrated scope. The left half remained in normal, nighttime mode. Using the left view as a guide, he pointed the weapon downrange in the anticipated direction of the target he had selected for himself—a 25 centimeter-size circle. He found it within seconds, a dinner plate-size oval that had a large “1” painted on its face. He keyed the trigger in nonfire mode to pin the target into his system’s memory.

Satisfied with locating the downrange target, he turned his attention to the area in front of his lane and noted the lack of a shooting table or any other type of support. Without the PEACE armor, a prone position with elevated support would have given him the best firing stance. However, because of the suit’s ability to lock in place on command, an unsupported, standing position provided just as much stability as lying prone with support. He added another mental check mark to the suit’s “benefits” column.

Once he felt ready to address his target, Eli asked for a status from the other members of the team. All replied back that they were also ready.

“Okay, Aquino. Whenever you’re ready, release the Boomer. Everyone else, once the Boomer goes off, engage your targets whenever you’re ready.”

Eli began the process of dialing in the Ninny onto his target. From this distance, the circle seemed tiny, even with the help of the weapon’s scope and the armor’s assistance. He made adjustments to the sighting picture using verbal commands that took distance, wind, and atmospheric pressure into consideration, and watched as the right side of his screen centered onto the target. Once he felt he had the weapon locked in as best as he could, he ordered the suit to freeze in position. He then waited for the explosion that would signal Aquino had fired on the tanklike silhouette. The Boomer was a shoulder-fired rocket designed to destroy armored vehicles and entrenched placements. The other soldier had shown proficiency with the weapon during training, and Eli had no concerns that the man would hit his target. The same went for the others on the team. He had no doubt they would all be successful. His ability with the Ninny was the only doubt he had. Once again, he wished that Samna was still with them.

Although it was expected, the explosion of the Boomer rocket’s impact surprised Eli. He had forgotten just how loud the weapon’s munition could be. He silently thanked himself for having the foresight to freeze his armor’s position beforehand. Hopefully, the others had done so as well. If not, they would likely have to revisit their targeting process.

Eli quickly put those thoughts out of his mind and focused his attention downrange.

Control what you can control.

He double-checked his target, made a slight adjustment to the sight picture. Although it didn’t affect his shot because of the armor he wore, he automatically reverted to his non-armor routine.

He took a deep breath, released half of the air from his lungs, then gently squeezed the trigger.

As with any good shot, he was surprised by the impact of the weapon’s firing.

As with any missed shot, he was also surprised when the target downrange remained untouched.

* * *

Eli stopped on his way to the latrine and looked over the shoulders of the small group of recruits who were pointing at the latest Sift results. When they noticed him pause in the hallway, they silently moved aside to allow him a clear view. He felt their eyes scanning him as he took his turn at the list.

As was his routine, he placed his left hand over the list of names without looking. Then, starting at the bottom, he slowly moved his hand upward, uncovering each name in turn. He slowly and carefully read each name and noted their score before moving up to the next name on the list. The first names he read weren’t a surprise. Private Tomas, the second choice from First Platoon had started the trials at the bottom of the pack, and hadn’t moved up since. As Eli had come to expect, the man remained in eighth place after the final test. Next, in seventh, was Sims from Third Platoon. Next were his own platoon-mates, Ellison in sixth and Benson in fifth. Benson’s performance throughout the trials had exceeded the man’s own expectations, though not those of Eli who knew what the other man was capable of doing. Unfortunately, though, while Benson was fully competent in all of the tasks they were given, he was a true master at none. As a result, he was relegated to the middle of the pack.

Eli’s first surprise came when he moved his hand upward to reveal the fourth spot. Instead of seeing Crimsa’s name, he noted that Johnson, the top candidate from First Platoon had lost a spot in the rankings. Even more surprising was the name that now sat in the third slot: Adrienne Tenney.

Eli jerked his hand away, unable to wait a moment longer.

There, in black and white, sat the final two names: Eli Jayson and Renaldo Crimsa.

Side-by-side, in a tie for first place.

Twigg trod the familiar path around his office as his mind gnawed over the problem at hand.

The Sift had been compromised, likely on multiple occasions, and he growled at the discovery. In the past, taking steps to prevent the most qualified humans from doing well, would have fallen to him. Now Brek or Krrp, probably both, were interfering with the trials and molding the results. He knew he shouldn’t blame them. Their instructions came from the same source as his always did—Colonel Drah. But blame them he did. They were looking toward their next promotion, and had no issue crawling over his back in the process. That angered Twigg, made him want to lash out with claw and boot at his fellow sergeants. And at Drah.

His recent loss of preferred status soured his entire being. It affected his work, kept him awake at night, and impaired his ability to enjoy what little life he had outside of this pitiful job. Drah expected nothing less than absolute loyalty, and Twigg’s inability to speak poorly of the human, Jayson, had summoned his downfall in the colonel’s eyes. But what is a Minith to do? The man had defeated him on the field of battle. If not for a lucky break, he would have also defeated him in the ring. The human had earned both his respect and his loyalty. Which is more than Twigg could ever say for Drah. There was no respect for his superior officer, and what loyalty he had felt was due to the rank that the other held, nothing more.

The Minith sergeant paused his shambling gait as he passed behind his desk. He turned, placed his leathery, green hands flat on the desk’s top and counted to ten. He had once overheard humans discussing the counting trick as a way to banish anger from their thoughts. Upon reaching “ten” he felt no better, so he repeated the process. Again, no better.

Twigg raised his hands, curled them into fists and slammed them with all his strength onto the surface. The metal relented, leaving two shallow indentations. The combination of physical action, shooting pain, and damaged property left him in a much better place.

Count to ten? Ridiculous. Lash out and hit something if you want to feel better!

He looked down at the two depressions his fists created and came to a decision.

When this cycle was over, he would put in for a transfer. He wouldn’t work for Drah another day, and he no longer had any desire to keep their human allies from succeeding.

Satisfied with his decision, he squared his shoulders and marched out of his office. He was still the senior sergeant over this training cycle. As such, he was determined to make things as right as possible while he still possessed authority and could influence the outcome of the Sift.

* * *

Eli slid his tray onto the table and lowered himself into his usual spot next to Adrienne Tenney. He looked across the table to Ellison, then to the right at Benson. He quickly scanned the rest of the room but didn’t see Crimsa anywhere. He wondered briefly if Crimsa had already seen the results. He assumed that he had.

It was obvious from the quiet that had settled over the table, and from the shared looks of his peers, they had all seen the latest posting. He focused on the slop in front of him and waited for the first question. He knew it wouldn’t take long, and his money was on Benson. His bunkmate had an irritating inability to let things lie.

“So, EJ,” Benson began. Eli fought to keep his face an unresponsive mask as a grin fought to break through. He knew he could count on Benson to keep things on the level, and he appreciated the other man for it. “What happened out there? The rumors being pushed around are crazy.”

“Well, I’m not sure what people are saying, but the truth is a bit crazy,” Eli replied. “Someone drilled a hole into my Ninny-gunner’s armor. We had to evacuate her to the temperate zone in the middle of the exercise.”

“I told you,” Sims offered from the other side of Adrienne Tenney. “Samna’s in my squad. She’s a solid trooper who knows what’s up. There’s no way she’d invent or exaggerate something like that.”

“No one said she did,” Ellison said quietly. “But how do we know someone drilled a hole into the suit? Maybe something she . . . I don’t know . . . maybe fell or rubbed against something that pierced the armor.”

“Really?” Benson challenged the question. “What could she have fallen against that would pierce agsel?”

“I’m just saying there might be another explanation. Who would purposely endanger a person like that?”

“It was a perfectly round hole,” Eli clarified. “I don’t see any explanation for how it got there except that someone put it there on purpose. With a drill.” Eli was ready to lay out his suspicions about the Minith sergeants—suspicions that had only gotten stronger over the past week—to the soldiers seated at the table, when he saw Benson pointing at something behind him.

“Here comes Crimsa.”

Eli turned and watched Crimsa approach. Instead of passing the assembled group with a smirk and a nod, as was his usual custom, the soldier from First Platoon stopped in front of the open space to Eli’s left. Crimsa’s face was an expressionless mask. He seemed hesitant, but Eli had the feeling from the way he stood that he was considering joining their group. Eli didn’t wait for the other man to decide. Instead, he reached over and pulled the chair away from the table and nodded toward it.

“Have a seat, Crimsa.”

The man exhaled loudly, nodded silent thanks, and plopped down. He stared at the tray in front of him, either unwilling or unable to meet the questioning looks being exchanged by the regulars. It was clear that something was on his mind, or he had something to say. Hoping to put the man at ease, Eli smiled. “Good morning, Crimsa. I’m glad you joined us. We were just talking about the Sift,” he started, hoping to break the ice. “Congratulations on your performance yesterday. You and your team did a great job.”

“You guys kicked my team’s butt,” Tenney offered. Her face was an unreadable mask of stoic indifference, though it sounded to Eli like the admission was a painful one. It was no secret that she held little affection for her platoon-mate.

Crimsa put his fork down and looked up at the faces staring at him. He met each person’s eyes and stopped last on Eli.

“I heard what happened with Samna,” he began. “She’s a good trooper, and I’m glad you and your team made sure she was safe. I know it cost you in points.”

“Hey, any of us would have done the same thing,” Eli said.

“No. I don’t think everyone
would
have done the same.” Crimsa turned in his chair to face Eli directly. “I don’t think
I
could have made the same decision in that situation, knowing it would cost me points. That’s the difference between you and me, Jayson. I think about what’s best for
me
. My decision-making process is based on that guiding principle. I know I’m not well liked because of it, but I can’t help it. It’s just the way I am.
You
, on the other hand. You think about what’s best for the group. It makes me angry to admit it, but I know you’re a better choice for commanding officer. I may want it, but you deserve it.”