Watching Yute (36 page)

She turned off the light. She wanted to
put the world on pause. She wanted a lot more than fifteen minutes.
She wandered over to the bed and laid down, letting the spear slip
from her grasp and rest on the floor. The droning hum of the
airlimb engines seemed to want her to take a nap, but the other
muted sounds of soldiers in the hall reminded her not
to.

Cassidy rolled over, and felt her
sidearm press against her hip, so she loosened the holster. The
snap holding the gun in came loose, and somehow she found the
handle of the gun securely in her hand.

Gun.

Cleaning.

Accident.

Was there even such a thing in reality,
or were they all just polite, ‘honourable’ labels for people who
just couldn’t take it anymore?

The metal was warmer on her cheek than
she expected.

No, stop. Stop that, idiot. Focus.
There was a job to do. She turned back over, and secured the gun
and holster again.

She reached down to the floor and
brushed her fingers along the shaft of the spear, and imagined
herself wielding it in combat. In her mind, it was in poetic slow
motion, like Maxine’s routine, as the spearhead passed through
Cheryl’s murderer like butter. The bastard’s blood and body cast
apart from itself. Her vengeful daydream had no sound, no
suffering, just an end to the thing that took her love.

The pieces of the murderer’s remains
floated on the air, and dissolved into smoke, then blackness. A
blackness where there was still no Cheryl.

Cassidy squeezed herself tight,
remembering Cheryl’s arms around her, remembering the intensity and
gentle layers of her love.

And it was gone.

Oh, there will be sound, fury and
pain.

~~~

“
I.R.’s not being any help,
Colonel.” The airlimb operator surveyed the top of the dugout as
best he could. From the air, they could only get a rough idea of
the interior layout.

Colonel Nafim stared at the display,
and zoomed in on the entrance hatch. “Let’s hover fifteen or so
meters above there, and drop a sniffer on it. If this guy is
attached to any bombings, he might have a surprise for
us.”

“
Yes Sir.” The operator
patched into the airlimb intercom. “Sergeant Dixon, drop a bomb
sniffer on the hatch, copy?”

Keith’s voice replied through the
intercom, “Copy that, ops, dropping sniffer.” On the display, a
black breadbox sized object fell onto the hatch. “Sniffer
dropped.”

“
Copy Dixon,
standby.”

Keith knelt at the edge of the airlimb
bay, looking down at the dugout, while Cassidy and seven other
Storms stood at the ready.

“
Bomb sniffer?” Cassidy
asked.

“
Detects bombs better than a
dog, eats less, shits less, never barks.”

“
You had a pet rock as a
kid, didn’t you?”

“
No, but it would have eaten
less, shat less, and never barked.“

“
Yeah, yeah. So now what?”
Cassidy gripped the spear tighter with impatient anxiety, and
glanced around at the other troops. They were cool as ice. For a
unit that she thought was essentially a glorified honour guard for
Armil, they sure looked ready to lay down some big hurt.

“
Right now the sniffer is...
sniffing, among other things, piping results to ops.”

“
Hrm. Don’t dogs sniff out
bombs pretty much instantly?”

Keith turned slowly to face Cassidy,
and slowly replied. “It eats less, and s-“

The intercom spoke up with the
Colonel’s voice. “Sniffer’s happy,” she said, “Stanton, Sir, I
recommend we touchdown thirty metres to the side of the hatch,
deploy from there, and rush in right after the smoke is
in.”

Cassidy didn’t see the need to have
that okayed by her, but whatever. “Alright, do it.” As the airlimb
moved into position, her, Keith, and the ‘StormFront’ put on their
IR/oxygen masks. She looked over at the seven intimidating
soldiers, all in black, with faces obscured.

“
If you told me a year ago
that I’d be Snow White, and that the seven dwarves were actually a
hit squad of faceless minions….” Well, it was hard to crack jokes
in a mask.

The airlimb slowed to a halt with only
the slightest bump on touchdown. “Alright folks, let’s do
this.”

The ‘Storms’ lived up to the name.
They, including Keith, flowed like an angry black cloud, and as
Cassidy ran among them, she realized the only sounds she heard were
ones she made. Her own footsteps, her own breathing, the throbbing
of her pulse.

One of the Storms at the head of the
pack began spewing smoke from the grenades in his hands. Through
the infra red lenses of the mask, the smoke was barely
visible.

The StormFront barely broke pace as the
first one wrenched open the hatch, heaving the sniffer off with it.
The second one threw the fuming smoke grenades in as he stepped out
of the way for the rest.

The first Storm down the stairs was
violently slammed against the wall by a spring loaded device. It
pressed a dozen or so metal spikes against him, but his body armor
resisted it. Still, he was pinned. The others stopped for a split
second until the pinned Storm waved the others past him and yelled
out “Go, go, go, I’m fine, go!”

Cassidy lagged behind the StormFront as
they streamed in quietly and quickly. She grabbed onto the spiky
trap, and leveraged her foot against the wall beside the pinned
soldier.

“
Sir! I’m fine!” he pointed
down into the dugout. “Go ahead and get the target!”

“
At ease, soldier.” She
grunted as she tried to pull the trap back. “They’re not going to
blow his head off without me. Hey, this thing’s a little strong,
can you help me out a bit?”

The soldier obeyed, and between the two
of them, the trap was pulled back enough for him to squirm out.
“Uh, thanks, Sir.” He dashed in.

This didn’t feel like the day. It just
didn’t. So she didn’t rush.

Cassidy held her breath and took her
mask off for a moment, out of curiosity. She couldn’t see her own
hand, but was surprised how dark the smoke made it, blocking the
sun. She put the mask back on before taking her next breath. She
got a bit of a taste of the smoke. She knew it wasn’t toxic, but it
wasn’t delicious either.

Taking the time to save her comrade
from certain inconvenience kind of sapped her haste.

She stood in the stairwell and braced
the spear. So.. The man who pushed a sharp chunk of metal into her
beloved was down there. huh? She tapped the back end of the spear
against the step a couple times. Does he know she’s here? Does he
know she has something sharp for him? Is the smoke filling his
lungs as he struggles blindly in the grip of a Storm?

Would the Storms say anything to him?
She hoped not. He didn’t say anything to her as he passed by her in
the sandstorm. He should be made to wait in silence, not
seeing.

Would she say something to him before
dragging the blade of the spear across his throat? Or maybe driving
it into his gut? The small side handle on the spear would provide
great leverage for twisting the spearhead in his wound.

Briefly, the notion of his blade
twisting in Cheryl’s gut forced its way into her mind. She grabbed
her new silver pendant, and moved it slightly in her hand so that
her ring scraped against it a little. She gave the pendant one
gentle little kiss. “It’s time, baby.”

She took the remaining steps one at a
time. Go now, there’s no better plan but to do, or to
die.

She got to the bottom, and saw the
Storms roaming around. No action, no captive. One of them walked up
to her.

“
Sir.” By the voice, she
knew it was Keith. “There’s no one here. There was not too long ago
though.”

“
Damn. So what do we have, a
hole in the ground?

“
No Sir. Well, yes Sir, but
there’s a few interesting things in this hole. About a half dozen
small arms, ranging from semis, to assault rifles. I got a close
look at only one so far, but the serial was removed. The others as
well, probably. They suggest illegal stuff, but... well, come
on.”

Keith waved Cassidy to follow, and led
her toward one of the inner rooms. As they passed the other Storms,
who were carefully searching around, she saw several Aguei themed
decorations. Nothing as fancy as Armil’s office though. In
comparison, these were tacky at best. Damaged posters of badly
painted Aguei warriors, cheap wooden statuettes, a frayed and faded
traditional rug.

Keith stood back from a desk central to
this room, and pointed his rifle at it. “Take a peek under
there.”

Cassidy walked around, and leaned over
to see. There was a black mass about the size and shape of a
pillow. No, that wasn’t right… she could only see the outline of
the shape. It was so dark, there was no other detail to be seen, as
if it were a hole in reality, showing only a void.

She leaned side to side, and it was
apparent that it was indeed an object, and not any kind of hole,
yet from any angle, it revealed no details or depth.

“
What the hell?”

“
It’s totally dead to the
I.R. vision.” Keith said.

She turned the spear around, and poked
it with the blunt back end. “Feels like… stiff cloth?” She held her
breath and took off her mask. There weren’t even any lights on in
the room. She put the mask back on. “Got a light?”

Keith produced a small flat flashlight
from his pocket, and handed it to Cassidy. She held her breath and
took off her mask again before flipping on the light. The smoke
hadn’t totally saturated this area, so the light reached almost all
the way across the room.

She aimed it at the mysterious object.
Under regular light, its folds and texture were plainly visible.
She reached down to feel it.

“
That’s… that’s his! He was
wearing this when he came to the temple!”

“
Leave it!” Keith spoke into
his comm.. “Everyone! Leave everything just as we found it! We’re
getting out of here! Don’t forget to reset that door
trap!”

“
What?”

~~~~~

:::C /37

~~~~~

Cipriana lagged behind the others on
the walk back to base after a shift at the temple. She looked off
to the horizon, and slowed to a standstill.

She spoke to herself softly. “Yes, I
can. Yes, I hope so. It would be very good to see her again. I’m
still a little disappointed that we didn’t hear from her after
Cheryl’s funeral. I know. I would call. No, you’re right, I should
have.”

She wondered if Marcus had these kinds
of talks, and just didn’t let people see it. She knew that
logically, she should be concerned. There was a ghost… or
something, in her head. She knew quite logically that it wasn’t
normal, and she should tell someone, like doctor Brock.

She knew this, but decided not to, just
as no one did anything when watches and other tech refused to work
in the temple. Did she do nothing because the voice was reassuring,
sounding like Marcus to her? Because it felt like being around
Marcus? She considered that she was being controlled. And she
didn’t really care.

The ghost was harmless. The nanite
system, whatever it is. It was far less of a threat than the A.R.A.
had been, that was for sure. And it sounded like Marcus. It felt
like Marcus.

~~~

Cassidy stepped off the airlimb onto
the familiar landing pad. She squinted her eyes in anticipation of
a light sandy breeze that didn’t come. She never thought she’d miss
the days when she got predictable doses of sand in her
eyes.

“
Alright, Sir,” Keith said,
“Colonel says we need to go restock, and Armil needs a ride later.
We’ll be back as soon as that’s all done.”

“
Alright. Keep me posted if
anything interesting happens.” She started walking down the path.
Keith closed the bay door and the airlimb began lifting
off.

Ah, there was her sand in the eyes.
Yeah, somehow it wasn’t quite as enjoyable as she had
remembered.

She looked towards the base. She didn’t
feel like talking to anyone. To camp, then. At least for a
while.

The walk was slow. She was aware of
each of her steps with intricate detail. Aware of the feeling, the
texture, her lack of speed. The feel of the sand under her boots,
the sunlight somehow dragging her along.

She passed the stump carving of the
statue's head. Such a silly thing to make. The wood was so old, but
was holding up so well. How long until it finally began to
rot?

She was vividly aware of it all, but
felt no control over any of it. So on she walked, with great
efforts to think only of the tiny, unimportant details. Thinking in
a loop. A small loop with no point.

Almost to her surprise, she eventually
reached the camp. Cheryl’s little graffiti wall greeted her. Wind
had finally managed to push the tent over. With only a sliver more
thought, she pulled the tent upright, re-planting the
stakes.