Body Parts

Body Parts

Ray Wilmot

Copyright © 2024 Ray Wilmot

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2024

ISBN 979-8-88793-194-4 (pbk)

ISBN 979-8-88793-207-1 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Epilogue

About the Author

Jungle Love

We were profusely sweating while our nostrils swelled and filled with the smell of rotting foliage and the stench of charred flesh. It's war! It doesn't have to be anytime, anywhere particularly. Any war sucks! The only winner is death, and that's where our job and this story begins. Our team was made up of five members. There was the AC or Acting Commander, Doc, Jalal, Mack, and myself, I'm known as Razor.

To make it brief, our job was to locate and assemble body parts. It didn't matter if it was some kid from the ghetto or a potential lawyer that couldn't pass the bar and got drafted. We just had to collect enough body parts without becoming some ourselves.

Who would want to look at this mess anyway? A head, a torso, arms, legs, and the right skin color, I spoke in a rather offhanded tone.

It looks like a body to me, Razor, Doc said flatly.

Tag it! snapped the AC, the nickname he wanted to be called by.

Doc was cool, and she could handle the collection. However, she didn't like to Tag them. We would take the dog tag with an imprinted chip and scan it by placing it onto a miniature scan-pad located on the wrist of our gear. That imprint would log in the data via satellite, where the location and casualty would be easily identified and located. Any additional information would be uploaded when you returned from the field. Tag! The name reminds me of a game we used to play when we were kids. Only in this game, when you're it, you're it for keeps.

Anyway, there we were humping it in some Godforsaken jungle of a third world country, and suddenly silence. Nothing moved. The birds stopped chirping, the insects stopped buzzing, and it seemed that even the wind stopped blowing. No one paid any close attention until Doc broke the silence and said, Hey! What's that? There was a slight trembling in her voice as it trailed off.

The Assistant Commander responded sourly, What? Respond, Doc! Doc? He anxiously queried her again.

There was still more silence, and for one long moment, Doc's world seemed to stand still. She seemed to be frozen in time within it and unable to move. At first, she couldn't understand just what it was that demanded her attention. She began to wonder within herself if she was cracking up. She slowly began to tilt her head from side to side ever so slightly, as if she were trying to see under or around whatever she saw. Being denied the ability to do so only caused another change of perspective as bewilderment etched itself more deeply into her countenance. She looked out over the fire zone, and it looked like any other. The heat was causing the humidity to rise, and in some places against the dark foliage background, you could see the heat and water vapors shimmering as they were being reflected in the intense sunlight. Then, in a moment, just briefly, she saw them. They appeared as fireflies in the daylight. They had a twinkle with a greenish neon glow as they passed through the vapors, and then they disappeared once more. At first, Doc thought she was just seeing things until she realized what she saw was moving horizontally and not vertical as the vapors were. The whole event took less than half a minute but seemed like an hour for Doc. Shutting her eyes, she shook her head to clear her mind and prepared herself to once more try to confirm that what she saw was real. Opening her eyes, Doc made a slight jump with a start when she saw they, or it, was gone.

She shrugged her shoulders and turned to continue the job, but she could only manage one step before turning and looking back again. Satisfied that it was only an illusion or that her mind was just playing tricks on her, she began to force the event further into the void of forgotten memories. I tried to get her attention and plucked a small pod off a nearby plant and gently tossed it at her. It plunked lightly against her shoulder gear. Slowly, her gaze pulled away. She was hoping to get one last glance at what she thought she saw.

Doc, what is it? What did you see? I pressed to cut off the AC.

Then, coming out of her daze, Doc answered softly, Nothing. Just a feeling, I guess. She lied. She was reminded of something long ago, and it still frightened her to think of today. I did not know her well enough, nor was I stupid enough to ask.

You've been at this too long, Doc. The voice of second-class Jalal echoed in the com-link.

I'd normally argue with you, Doc snapped back. However, I could have sworn that I had more body parts here! I know they didn't just get up and walk away!

Then she abruptly changed gears. Let's wrap this up and breathe some fresh air for a while, she said firmly.

Roger that! was the AC's reply. Sometimes, even the AC got tired of looking at body parts! Sometimes you just had to let your mind unwind, drift, and clear. But sometimes, even that can be a very dangerous thing to do.

We advanced about a good quarter mile until we spotted a secluded spot that looked easy enough to defend and began to set up the perimeter. Mac was put in charge of setting it up. He took point, and I would sweep the rear. The rest of the team became centered, checking communications and coordinates. It was a simple formation that allowed everyone to hear the information and still be flexible enough to disperse if attacked. Once they were secure enough to stop looking around and trust our watch, they would focus more on the data to determine our next move. It didn't take long to see that something was terribly wrong.

So here we are! the AC groaned with a somber look on his face.

Maybe we messed up on the coordinates? Doc asked with a condescending tone.

Jalal, check that! the AC said as he attempted to wipe sweat from his forehead and neck.

I mused to myself as I watched, and I thought about how futile that was in one-hundred-degree temperature in the middle of a swamp. Steam was rising from the brackish water. There was an unusual shimmer in it. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light.

According to this, we're off by zero-three-five degrees! Jalal sputtered.

Great! Now use your com-pad and give me a visual, the AC replied dryly.

Jalal wasn't a careless Com-Tech, so the problem had to come from the Information Center, or Info-Cen. We all knew that, but we were standing in three feet of slime and muck in this heat with heavy equipment, photon rifles, and provisions that would irritate anyone. The psych evaluations were put to the test for any team under these conditions in the field. Wearing the armament wasn't a problem, really. It consisted of an automatic photon rifle mounted on a thin exoskeleton that we wore, which was run by pulses from a biochip that connected to neurotransmitters placed beneath the base of our skulls. There weren't any holes like jack ports under the skin. These were bio-pads that resembled large Band-Aids. The sensors were located where the pad would be. Connected on both sides were thin miniature USB ports. These would be jacked into a thin strap with Velcro on the ends that would wrap around our necks, holding the biochip in place. Protruding from the center of the patch was the servo-cord connector, which in turn was jacked into the exoskeleton that would signal the movements required of it. The equipment operated almost flawlessly.

The one major problem was that you had to keep the arm holding the photon rifle raised in an upward vertical position when not in use. This was done so that the photon rifle wouldn't get clogged with muck or debris. If the particle flow was completely cut off and the rifle was fired, the charge could reverse itself, and the exoskeleton would be fried along with you in it. Hey, it's the future, but we're still not perfect. You can tell that by the war.

So, how's it going, Razor? Doc asked me.

Normally, Doc and I didn't talk much, but for a second, even her voice was welcome. I guess anything beats having to hear the AC's explicative to Info-Cen while watching Jalal flinch when they tried to throw it at him. So, I just shrugged and continued to let my mind drift back to why I ended up in this mess in the first place.

Cassandra Quinn

Thaddeus Razonne, that's me. But everyone calls me Razor for short. Anyway, there I was, living in a sprawling city called New Austin, Texas, working as a Chemical Tech for just another greedy conglomerate that it profited from. Life, as it seemed, wasn't that bad. As a matter of fact, I thought for a moment I had it all going my way. I had a few thousand credits in the bank, a good job, a decent vehicle, and a nice apartment. And I had Cassandra. Cassandra Quinn. I met her at Chem-Plex Inc., the company we both worked for. We seemed to get along great and eventually lived together. Someone once said, When it rains, it pours. To me, it was a flood that would make Noah proud. For a few days, Cassandra wasn't quite herself. I figured it was that time again because we hadn't been, well, you know. Anyway, one night, she didn't come home. It wasn't unusual, as she would stay with a friend overnight from time to time. However, the strangeness of it was that she didn't call at all. I worried about her because she and I didn't have any living relatives, and it seemed we filled that void for each other.

The next morning, I got up, showered, and ate a slow breakfast while waiting to see if she would call. She didn't. I felt like I was being filled with a mixture of fear and anger within me as I made my way to work. I believed that I would see her there. By the time I arrived at Chem-Plex Inc., my anticipation of seeing her was almost unbearable. My mind was racing with emotions almost without restraints on tangents as I forced my face to try to display calm.

Somberly, I got off the elevator where my section was located. I remember casually walking down the long corridor while staring at the print in the carpet. Suddenly, as if in panic, I began to check and pat my pockets. I didn't have my Ident-key. Puzzled, I began to try to retrace my actions to the time I last saw the key. Turning up empty, I began to manually input my name and password. When the door opened, the silence in the corridor was flooded by the sounds from within. It was a virtual hive of activity, yet I only saw shadows when I was swiftly caught up in a pair of waiting outstretched arms. The arms of the Chem-Plex Inc. Security Police! By the time I recovered from the shock, I was in a security office being questioned, accused, and threatened with imprisonment.

I quickly put together that a lot of valuable chemical samples were missing, and so was the day shift supervisor. The only way to get the samples was to have an Ident-key. Not all Chemical Techs carried one, only levels one and two. I was level two.

Where's your Ident-key, Razonne? snapped an interrogator as he looked over the short stub of a cigar he had been chewing on.

As calmly as I could, I took out my Ident-key container. While opening it, I began to say, It's right—

Here! growled another interrogator, showing me my Ident-key. Then the pit of my stomach began to churn and sour as my head swam with the truth. Cassandra!

It took a lot of explaining and hours more of interrogation, but finally, they were convinced that I was not involved with Cassandra and that she was sleeping with the supervisor while using me to get my Ident-key. Well, that's history, and so were Cassandra and the supervisor. While the security police were tied up with me, it bought them plenty of time to fade into a faceless world. Dorks!

I still lost my job. It's not good for our image with the public and other staff, you understand, some pencil-necked VIP from upstairs said in a shrill monotone voice. When I think about him, I still think about what I should have told him to do with their precious public image. Anyway, I just couldn't stomach Chem-Plex Inc. anymore. I just walked out, got into my vehicle, and started home via the most convenient liquor store. I took a fifth of ominous-looking vodka off the shelf, thought about Cassandra, and got two.

When I approached the counter, my looks must have revealed how I felt, because the clerk said, Man, you look like you've been through hell.

Handing him my credit chip, I listlessly replied, I have.

Then you can handle anything at this point, I bet, he said as if he were amused.

How's that so? I replied as if coming out of a daze.

Well, according to this credit chip, you're broke! he said with a wide grin on his face. You guessed it: Cassandra! Anyway, I explained what happened, and he felt for me. Since I was a regular, he gave me the liquor anyway.

Later, I found myself at home, sprawled in front of the couch that I got tired of sliding off. I was well into the second fifth of vodka while watching the vid-set. I know what I'm getting ready to say would make me sound sadistic, but I'm not trying to be.

The vid-set blared and introduced a military advertisement. You see, there's no Army, Navy, Air Force, or Marines anymore. It's just called The Military. Then, like a light in the dark, an idea came to mind. That if I couldn't get my hands around that soft ready-to-be-broken neck of Cassandra's, I sure as hell could kill someone! So, I joined the Military.

*****

Snap out of it, Razonne! growled the AC. We are in it, and we are in it deep! Info-Cen confirmed our location, and we are advised to evacuate the coordinates immediately!

I was getting ready to speak when Doc beat me to it. Somehow, she was good at that. What's the bottom line, AC? she asked.

You could tell by the expressions on everyone's face that they really didn't want to hear the answer. He stared at us one at a time and finally spoke. We drifted too far, he said somberly. The enemy is advancing on our right flank and our forces on the left.

I couldn't help but butt in. Wait a minute AC. If I'm wrong, correct me, okay? I said as sarcastically as I could.

Can it, Razonne! he snapped.

I persisted. Okay, okay. So can I ask you this? I tried to sound more serious. The enemy doesn't know we're here, and our people don't know we're here, right?

Correct, he said dryly.

That means that when the shooting starts, we'll be in a—

Cross fire! Good old Doc. I told you so. The words were barely uttered from her lips when our world was turned upside down.

Cross Fire!

It's a crossfire! Let's get the hell out of here, people! Move it, now! the AC barked out his commands. He didn't have to say it twice because before he was half finished, we were all in full stride to anywhere else! Photon pulses filled the air like someone had upset a hornet's nest.

Even with the assistance of our exoskeletons, we had to labor through the marshy slough. Everyone, that is, except for Mack. He was cutting a swatch through the mire, causing the path he travelled to be loose and our way easier if we were able to cover one of the spots he left behind. We had to stay in a two-one staggered formation, so those spots were not many. Mac was soon leaving us behind. He wasn't deserting us, mind you. He was executing his prime function as point man. He was to proceed ahead, secure a location, and use suppressing fire until all the chicks were in the nest. We were assured it would be executed as we pursued because we all knew Mack was the best operator in that scenario. He had done this for us in other skirmishes before.

He soon began to pop off rounds into some foliage on the left flank. At first, I thought he was just chasing shadows to see what jumped off. But that was soon dispelled by the heavy return fire of the enemy. They lay down a constant and heavy suppressing fire, but Mack pressed on. Suddenly, there were some hits from some short-range mortars, and Mack became just a silhouette amid the thick acrid smoke. The only way we could tell he was still alive was by the constant chatter of his automatic photon rifle, with its distinctive muzzle flash.

Within minutes, Mack was gone, and we began to take on heavier enemy fire. That was when the meat grinder began to churn. Our own troops joined into the fray, and to them, we were the enemy. We all knew that if we were going to survive, our game plan would have to change.

Artillery was now falling in sheets so close we could feel the hot spray of the marsh water on our faces. I still get a shiver up my spine when I remember how the swamp would react when the shells hit. At first impact with the swamp, they would cause the mire to seemingly suck inward and hesitate for a long moment. It would make you wonder if anything at all was going to happen, and then suddenly, the swamp would spit out flame, muck, mud, and death skyward.

Damn! I snapped in panic and disbelief. A stray photon pulse skirted off my exoskeleton and unhooked my exoskeleton servo-cord. Already, I could feel the pressure loss. The only choice I had was to reconnect it or to abandon the exoskeleton. To reconnect, I had to get out of my armor, and once I did that, my chances of survival would become zero. Nevertheless, I was still making a good pace. Fear can do that for you. However, the more that I moved, the more my pace gradually began to slow.

Razor, what is it? Doc cried.

Somehow, my servo-cord got shot loose! I was really saying, Forget about me. I'll soon be body parts!

Then the most amazing thing happened. She slowed her pace, and while we ran, she tried to reconnect the loose cord. Good old Doc!

We were all headed toward a thickly foliaged embankment that sat neatly behind a rock outcropping. There was less fire there, and the conditions offered better cover. My exoskeleton had begun to lose more power. Still, Doc was hanging in there with me, struggling but doing the best she could. Some moments, the skeletal connection would be futile, while other times, a partial connection would cause it to jump to life unexpectedly. We both looked up at the same time to see the AC and Jalal. They were almost side by side, making it along at a pretty good clip. I remember envying them while pitying myself and Doc. I imagined how Doc and I could be right there with them, just a few steps from safety.

Suddenly, a shell landed nearby, and it tugged at the mire to release its death. High into the air as it spat flame, steam, mud, muck, and the body parts of the AC and Jalal. That is, if there was any left. That was the last time I wished for what other people had.

Doc was the med-tech of the squad. She stood about five feet seven inches and weighed about 125 pounds. She was of a thin build, but she was very athletic. Her hair was a tannish blond color, and her eyes were a soft powder blue until she got angry. Then they would get stormy and turn a bluish gray. I remember how she used to lecture us on field sanitation and such. At one lecture, she would speak to us in a stern, nasal, and motherly voice. Whenever you're in deep waters, hold your bladders! Something about worms being attracted by the warmth of your body and crawling into your urine stream into your body. To hell with the worms! When Doc and I saw what happened to the AC and Jalal, we realized that if it had not been for my servo-cord, we would have been body parts too.

For a long moment, we just stared at each other in disbelief, and I could tell by her expression that she didn't give a damn about those worms either.

Fast-Forward

I wonder what happened to good old Doc, I murmured to myself as I struggled to sit in my recliner. Popping the tab on a cold beer, I turned on the vid-set to see the news. A reporter was on and, with his most mournful face, announced a plane crash in Houstonia, Texas.

All two hundred and twelve passengers have perished in what is called the most—

I turned down the volume on the set and began to watch the flashing indicators on my com-pad. Jeez! I said to myself while shaking my head. Then a thought came to mind. After eight years, I'm still dealing with body parts! I did it at Metro-Plex for a living. Hey, it was a job. Whenever there was some type of major disaster, we got our special teams together, and we would sift through the wreckage and pick up the body parts. Strange, I thought. It seems that there sure are a lot more disasters these days.

It is said that the mind can play tricks on you sometimes, and it seemed that this was one of those times. I'd seen so much that I began to believe that I had seen it all. Well, I was wrong! I spilled beer down my chin, and while trying to keep it from getting on my shirt, I glanced up at the vid-set for just a second. The cameraman was doing a lousy job of panning and zooming the area. First, the bystanders, and then back to the wreckage area again. Suddenly, my heart began to pound to the beat of the devil's drum. I hadn't felt fear like this since being in the Military! Cold sweat burst out my forehead, and I realized that I couldn't stop trembling. I was weak to the point of fainting and dropped the beer onto the floor. As beer began to fizz and splatter all over the walls, myself, and the furniture, all that I could mutter under my labored breath was Sweet Jesus!

Frantic, I began to clumsily and shakingly look for old com-pad chips. One of them had the com-link to the only person in the world I could possibly speak to that wouldn't have me fitted for a butterfly net.

I was interrupted and jumped when my com-pad began buzzing. There they are again! I shouted to convince myself. This time, the com-pad buzzing was annoying, so I angrily picked it up and hit the receive app.

Before I could acknowledge myself, a female voice flashed into my ear. Did you see it? the voice said, terrified yet controlled and demanding. We have to see each other now! she snapped. I'm flying out to the wreck location as soon as possible! Meet me there, and don't say a word to anyone, understand?

Before I could respond, the com-pad went dead. That was not the only thing that was dead, because right before my eyes on the vid-set was none other than Jalal and the AC!

What in the hell is going on? I questioned myself.

Well, one thing was certain. I was going to find out. That is, when Doc got there. It would be good to see Doc again.

It seemed that I got butterflies when our eyes first met. God, she looked even better than I remembered. Her hair was cut stylishly with a little hint of punk. Her skin glistened from her tan, and her body was still toned. One thing was certain by the look in her eyes, Doc was still about business.

We were sitting in a grease joint called Adam's Rib' staring at each other with glazed eyes. Service was lousy, but the barbeque was only short of heaven. Doc was pleased to get away from wine lists, stuffed shirts, and their plastic faces. I felt more comfortable there because most of the customers weren't required to have an IQ over 90. Anything higher was a commodity that I had come to realize I didn't want around us. I whispered my thoughts to Doc, and we both began to snicker at ourselves for being the ones with mental problems. We saw people we knew were dead, and now (somehow, someway) they were walking around with the living.

Ironically, there was an operable antique vid-set on a countertop between a rack of assorted chips and a couple of glass containers filled with a colorful mixture of candies and cookies. There was a space where a plastic mat with slightly crumpled edges and a handknitted doily resting upon it. This was the area where customers would pay for their meals or pick up their takeout orders. On the counter sat a late model cash register that was cranking out receipts at a very slow pace. Back and forth the small printing device would travel while staying in the confines of the receipt papers' boundary. Back and forth, back and forth, and no matter what letter or symbol, no matter what the number, it could not break free. It made me reflect on my life and how deep a rut I fell into behind Cassandra. How confined my life now seemed in the grand scheme of things. I really began to identify with it when the print was done and the dispensed receipt was swiftly ripped off. The sound of it tearing was the last remnant of its connection with the register. The carbon copy was handed to the customer, and then the original was nonchalantly skewered atop a pile of the other misfortunates, just as swiftly forgotten.

My attention was again drawn back to the sound of the vid-set. I was able to identify the program by the voice of the host. Subconsciously, I created his facial image to go along with the words while trying to imagine the features of the guest he was interviewing. The guest was identified as Professor Joseph P. Lancaster, PhD in Quackology. The host would try to sound serious, all the while lacing his questions with jabs at the professor's character. Nevertheless, he was a cool bird and held his own against the seasoned interviewer. I imagined him as thin and wiry, with a stooped posture and thick bifocals. His voice sounded that of an older man, somewhat nasal with a thick New York accent.

At first, we said nothing for the most part. I figured it was because we both didn't know where to start, so we both ate while bonding in silence. Doc was finishing her ribs with a second piece of Texas toast while I just watched while sipping a beer after finishing some brisket and chicken.

Are we both going mad? she demanded more than asked as she heavily dropped the remains of a rib on her plate. The clank of it striking the plate echoed off the wall and joined in with the symphony of all the other diners' utensils as they created body parts of their own. It grew louder and louder and began to pound in my ears until it sounded like an old gothic or midlevel war scene. Somewhere down the line, I drifted back to reality as Doc said excitedly, I mean, we both saw them, right? But how? It's not possible!

I searched for answers and gave her the only one I had. None!

Okay, she snapped. What do we do about this? Who do we see?

I could tell that Doc was getting anxious, and that wasn't good at this point.

Whoa, slow down, Doc. We don't know it was really them, I said, trying to pacify her.

What the hell do you mean we don't know if it was really them? she snapped sarcastically while rising from the table.

I firmly grasped her by the arm and settled her back into her seat and out of the attention of the waitress and other customers around us.

All I'm saying, Doc, is that before we go gallivanting around the state talking about two men that we both saw totally, and I mean totally obliterated, we damn well better know who we're talking to, I snapped. You're a doctor. Have you seen the insides of a psych ward lately? I asked for emphasis.

Doc got the message and became irritated, but finally, she spoke. Fine! So, what's the game plan?

After a moment, I calmly replied, You know that I now work for Metro-Plex, and the division that I work for is connected to the Metro-Plex police network. I have a little clout there, and it allows me to have some access to personnel, computers, and science equipment if needed. I'll take a week's back vacation and tell them I'm going out to the site with you as my assistant and consult. We provide services like that from time to time when we don't want other agencies monitoring or following our movements.

Peachy, she said flatly.

Anyway, I said sharply. This will allow us a free hand and still give us access to resources available. We start there.

Doc nodded in agreement, and we rose from the table together. To this day, I still wonder if we should have just sat there instead.

Our destination was a small town called Grayson, just outside of Houstonia. It was a typical small town with a population of only three to four thousand, and that depended if anyone stayed in town when the census was taken. As the helicopter circled the crash site, we activated our voice links and scrambled everyone else's. This was common because Metro-Plex frowned on the public monitoring us. They could find out some highly classified information or reveal something that could lead to the escape of some maniac or terrorist group.

Okay, what are we looking for, exactly? Doc asked flatly. Is it a new biochemical experiment? Is it Revelation-type stuff? Is it some sort of genetic reproduction? Who or what is responsible? Is it safe?

Heavily, under my breath, I muttered, I wish I knew, Doc. All I do know is that I'm scared, Doc. Really scared!

Doc didn't have to answer. The look on her face when she saw mine said it all. The worms were not that far away.

We boarded a company copter, and within the hour, we were in view of Grayson. As we landed, I glanced outside the viewport and saw multiple company vehicles sprinkled across the countryside. Nearby, one of the vehicles on the edge of the landing zone was a single individual, watching and waiting. It was a thin man, yet he was wiry in build. I could tell by the sour expression, dark as midnight glasses, and the typical spook suit he was wearing that he was in charge.

He's trouble, I grumbled while leaving the vehicle. Doc and I had to stoop beneath the noise, wind, and rotors as we approached him. I could have sworn a smirk crossed his lips, as if he were thinking, Bow down, my new loyal subjects.

Once we were in the silence of a soundproof vehicle, introductions began. He offered a thin bony hand and said, I'm Agent Justin Farr, Field Rep. He tried to sound authoritative when he didn't have to. I wasn't impressed.

Shaking his hand, I said, I'm Thaddeus Razonne.

For some reason, I didn't have a desire for him to call me Razor or for me to hear him say it. He hadn't earned that right yet.

A hand was offered to Doc. Justin Farr, he said, more informally.

Jeanine Doctarius, Doc answered more politely. When I had heard her speak her full maiden name, I realized that this strong attractive woman at my side, that I had went through a war with, was still a mystery to me. After all, there was a low survival rate in those days, and by the time you learned a name, they seemed to always end up dead or transferred.

I tried remembering how I knew her full name other than just Doc. My mind gently drifted back to where it had first begun. When I first saw her Ident-tag, I wondered, What an odd name. Without thinking, I uttered her name. Doctarius. That turned out to be a big mistake.

Doc shot me a glance that could make toothpicks out of a redwood tree. Jalal picked up on it and tried to defuse the situation by rambling on about the mission, and after a few minutes, the fire in Doc's eyes began to cool. She realized that I was genuinely sorry, and right now, we needed each other. I would never ask the origin of it, considering the look I had gotten previously. However, I would be forever curious.

Eventually, our first assignment came, and the AC was our nursemaid as usual. Training could only do so much, and he knew what lay in wait for us in the field. Jalal had been out a few times before, so he paid more attention to other things going on around us than to the AC. He had lost the other three members of his old team and was recently reassigned to ours. People react in situations differently, and I was no exception. The job we were doing out there didn't faze me in the least. All I could see when I looked out on the waves of body parts was Cassandra, but it was not so for Doc. Jeanine Doctarius. She just stood, slightly leaning against the splintered and charred remains of what used to be a tree, wrenching her heart out in pain. She had lost her lunch ten minutes earlier.

I had made a low and offhanded remark about it to Jalal. I don't remember what it was, but before I could get the first snicker out of my mouth, Jalal's face was replaced by the AC's. His rock jaw jutted forward, and thin lips spattered my face with the mist of his saliva. In size, he had me by a good twenty or thirty pounds, and he was using them to his complete advantage. He had both of his viselike hands clamped to the front breastplate supports of my exoskeleton, pulling me toward him. There was no escape.

In a low and even voice, he snarled in my face, Razonne! What's so damned funny?

Well, I… I began to mutter in a gentle tone to appeal to his soft side, but the AC didn't have one.

Shut the hell up, Razonne! When I want to hear your voice, I'll squeeze. Just shut up and listen. It's my job to make this team work. That means that I must know things, Razonne. The way he spoke my name both angered and hurt me at the same time, and he knew it. That's why I'm the AC! he continued. Com-Tech requires that I have a complete working knowledge of each team member's psychological, physical, and personal background. He was pushing all the right buttons at this point. If I were a display board, I would have all my lights flashing to beat the band. I know about you, Razonne, he snapped. I really don't know or care if you did or didn't do all they say you did at Chem-Plex Inc. What I do know is that neither you nor anyone else will, in any way, divide this team! Got that? he snarled as he shoved me away.

My first impulse was to step right up and bust him in the face. My second impulse let me know that he wanted me to try it. I chose the third impulse. I did nothing.

Good Old Doc

Later, after apologizing to Doc and swallowing what seemed like buckets of crow and pride, I wandered a few meters off into the bush. I found a nice rock, sat down, and cried. Somehow, Doc knew what was going on inside me. She found me and just gently sat down beside me while looking up into the sky. Finally, she broke the silence.

Razor, I'm not mad. Heck, you should have heard the way I got ragged in school. I