Read Online Terms of Enlistment 01.2: Measures of Absolution by Marko Kloos - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marko Kloos
Tags: Science-Fiction
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they didn’t shackle her wrists.
The tall, lean, handsome visitor from before walks into the room. He’s wearing the same sanitized fatigues—no rank insignia, no name tag, no unit patches. He eyes the empty meal tray on the floor. Then he picks up the chair from the corner of the room again and puts it in the precise spot he had placed it earlier, as close to the bed as possible while still being out of the reach of the shackled Jackson.
“Where am I?” she asks him. “Who are you? How long have I been under?”
He flashes the sparest of smiles. Then he sits down on the chair and straightens out the tunic of his fatigues.
“You are in PRC Detroit-22, in one of the residence towers we control. My name is Lazarus, and I am in charge of the force that captured and disarmed your platoon. You have been under for three days.”
“ Lazarus ,” she says, and almost chuckles. “Come back from the dead, did you?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Lazarus says. “It’s a bit of a long story, and I’m not sure you’d be interested even if I were in the mood to tell you.”
“They’ll tear this place apart when they come looking for us,” Jackson says. Lazarus shakes his head slowly.
“I have no doubt they’ll be back soon with more people, but we’ve long left the block where we ambushed your unit. We never use the same trick twice from the same spot. They’ll need to drop a whole battalion just to get control of one block, never mind twelve.”
“You control the entire PRC,” Jackson says, incredulity creeping into her voice.
“Most of it,” Lazarus says. “The wonders of centralized control and command. Now let me ask you a question.”
He reaches into one of the chest pockets of his tunic and pulls out a set of dog tags on a chain. Then he dangles them from his fingers for her to see.
“You had these on you when we stripped you of your gear. Would you mind telling me how you got them?”
The dog tags are those of Anna McKenney, of course. She had been carrying them in the water-tight pocket insert where she keeps all her personal stuff. She looks at Lazarus, who is returning her gaze impassively.
“I took them off a woman’s neck on the street in one of your shithole PRCs in the center of this shithole of a city.”
“Did you kill her?”
Jackson senses that a lot is riding on her answer. She doesn’t even consider lying.
“She wounded one of my troopers. Was about to finish him off. I put two bursts into her. Fuckin’ right I killed her.”
He doesn’t say anything to that, just looks at her with this steely, unmoved expression, but she can tell there’s a lot swirling behind those eyes right now. Then he lets out a small sigh and looks down at his hands.
“I suspected as much. We never found her body, but we had a lot of missing that night. What a waste.”
Jackson agrees, although for different reasons. She doesn’t say anything else, though. Lazarus shakes his head and puts the dog tags back into his pocket.
“It’s all a waste, you know. Us down here, squabbling about who gets to eat how much of what shitty calories, you up there putting the boot on our throats whenever the pot boils over.”
“We keep order,” Jackson says. “We hold the line.”
Lazarus shakes his head with a sad smile.
“Is that what you think you’re doing? Do you see anyone glad for your presence whenever you come down into a PRC? Do you honestly not know how these people see you when you come in with your gunships and your battle armor, and walk the streets like you own the place?”
“Food’s shitty,” Jackson says. “Life sucks. I know. I was welfare before I joined up. But without the TA keeping you all from burning the place down, there wouldn’t be any calories for anyone.”
“You ought to know better than that, Corporal Kameelah Jackson,” Lazarus says. “You’re not there for our benefit. You’re there to keep the shit from spilling over into the suburbs and the
The tall, lean, handsome visitor from before walks into the room. He’s wearing the same sanitized fatigues—no rank insignia, no name tag, no unit patches. He eyes the empty meal tray on the floor. Then he picks up the chair from the corner of the room again and puts it in the precise spot he had placed it earlier, as close to the bed as possible while still being out of the reach of the shackled Jackson.
“Where am I?” she asks him. “Who are you? How long have I been under?”
He flashes the sparest of smiles. Then he sits down on the chair and straightens out the tunic of his fatigues.
“You are in PRC Detroit-22, in one of the residence towers we control. My name is Lazarus, and I am in charge of the force that captured and disarmed your platoon. You have been under for three days.”
“ Lazarus ,” she says, and almost chuckles. “Come back from the dead, did you?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Lazarus says. “It’s a bit of a long story, and I’m not sure you’d be interested even if I were in the mood to tell you.”
“They’ll tear this place apart when they come looking for us,” Jackson says. Lazarus shakes his head slowly.
“I have no doubt they’ll be back soon with more people, but we’ve long left the block where we ambushed your unit. We never use the same trick twice from the same spot. They’ll need to drop a whole battalion just to get control of one block, never mind twelve.”
“You control the entire PRC,” Jackson says, incredulity creeping into her voice.
“Most of it,” Lazarus says. “The wonders of centralized control and command. Now let me ask you a question.”
He reaches into one of the chest pockets of his tunic and pulls out a set of dog tags on a chain. Then he dangles them from his fingers for her to see.
“You had these on you when we stripped you of your gear. Would you mind telling me how you got them?”
The dog tags are those of Anna McKenney, of course. She had been carrying them in the water-tight pocket insert where she keeps all her personal stuff. She looks at Lazarus, who is returning her gaze impassively.
“I took them off a woman’s neck on the street in one of your shithole PRCs in the center of this shithole of a city.”
“Did you kill her?”
Jackson senses that a lot is riding on her answer. She doesn’t even consider lying.
“She wounded one of my troopers. Was about to finish him off. I put two bursts into her. Fuckin’ right I killed her.”
He doesn’t say anything to that, just looks at her with this steely, unmoved expression, but she can tell there’s a lot swirling behind those eyes right now. Then he lets out a small sigh and looks down at his hands.
“I suspected as much. We never found her body, but we had a lot of missing that night. What a waste.”
Jackson agrees, although for different reasons. She doesn’t say anything else, though. Lazarus shakes his head and puts the dog tags back into his pocket.
“It’s all a waste, you know. Us down here, squabbling about who gets to eat how much of what shitty calories, you up there putting the boot on our throats whenever the pot boils over.”
“We keep order,” Jackson says. “We hold the line.”
Lazarus shakes his head with a sad smile.
“Is that what you think you’re doing? Do you see anyone glad for your presence whenever you come down into a PRC? Do you honestly not know how these people see you when you come in with your gunships and your battle armor, and walk the streets like you own the place?”
“Food’s shitty,” Jackson says. “Life sucks. I know. I was welfare before I joined up. But without the TA keeping you all from burning the place down, there wouldn’t be any calories for anyone.”
“You ought to know better than that, Corporal Kameelah Jackson,” Lazarus says. “You’re not there for our benefit. You’re there to keep the shit from spilling over into the suburbs and the
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