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the brig,” T-Rex told him.

T-Rex was Lance Corporal Sylvester Harrington Smith Pulaski.  He was an immensely strong Marine, with broad shoulders that had to give the armorers nervous breakdowns when it came to fitting him. He had essentially no neck and seemingly little short arms, hence the “T-Rex” nickname.  He was also about the smartest Marine Ryck had met, with a broad knowledge on just about everything.  He spoke as if he was barely educated, but that didn’t fool anyone.

“Don’t need food there.  I’ll have my memories of the lovely Miss Sorada to fulfill me,” Sams said dramatically, his voice pitched higher than normal.

“Hope she was really worth it, when we all are out on the ville, getting some,” T-Rex replied.

“Oh, she was, she was.  Better than any D-town ho, that’s for sure.”

That brought a round of laughter.  Ryck was glad he wasn’t facing the same fate as Sams, but still, there was a degree of envy in him.  Getting laid while on a mission had a certain swashbuckling flair, something to tell the other grandpaps as they sat around the retirement home years from now.

Ryck took another bite of his bacon, looking around at the other Marines.  He’d been with the unit only a short time, but somehow, it seemed longer.  He felt like he fit in, as if this life was made for him.  This was a long way from the dusty fields of Prophesy, but sitting in the crew’s mess, light-years from the farm, it seemed as if it was destined.  He felt more at home than in the house where he’d been raised.

Not completely at home, though.  Two sailors took their trays to the next table and sat down, their connectors clearly visible on the backs of their shaved heads.  Unlike the other sailors, navigators, as these two were, and gunners never wore covers.  The interfaces they needed to connect to the cybercomps that kept the ship’s bubble whole and the ship on course, or in the case of the gunners, that enabled them to control the ship’s weapons systems, were surgically implanted into their brains through the back of their skulls.  The “cybos” generally kept to themselves, an elite among the rest of the crew.  They gave Ryck the creeps, though. The Marines also used biofaces, of course, but theirs were patches that were placed on the skin, not drilled through the skull.

Ryck tore his gaze off of their heads and speared his last piece of bacon, mushing it around his plate to mop up the last of his sauce.  He popped it in his mouth and contemplated going back for another serving.  There was nothing to stop him, nor would anyone even care, but he decided against it as a show of inner discipline.

Sergeant Piccalo-Tensing entered the mess decks, spied the Marines, and made a beeline to them.

“Shit, what’s PT got for us now?” Wan asked, quickly pushing more of his food into his mouth as if afraid he wouldn’t get the chance to finish.

“What’s up, Sergeant?” Pallas asked.

Corporal Pallas and Sergeant Piccalo-Tensing were both NCOs, but Pallas seemed more at home with the non-rates.  There seemed to be an underlying tension between the two men that Ryck didn’t understand.

“Word just came out, and I thought I would pass it to you.  We’re dropping out of bubble space at 1400.  At 1800, liberty is being called.  Vegas.”

There was a moment of silence before whoops of joy rang out, not just from the Marines, but from the sailors who had been sitting within earshot.  Vegas!  Some Marines might go through an entire enlistment without getting to any of the fabled four liberty ports of Vegas, Kukson, Ramp it Up, or Pattaya.

“Liberty brief will be at 1700 in the chapel.  And there will be an inspection.  No raggedly ass Marines will be allowed off the ship,” the squad leader said before turning around and leaving.

“My fucking grandmother!  Vegas!” one of the sailors said.

Ryck didn’t quite understand the reference of that, but he understood the tone of the sailor’s comment.

“Vegas!  This is going to be epic!” Sams said.

“What do you mean, there, brig rat?” T-Rex asked.

“No, no, I’ve got my brig time back on the Dirtball!” Sams protested.

“You sure?  Seems to me you’re not in the brig now because this ship doesn’t have one.  I think you’re restricted to the ship,” Corporal Pallas told him.

“No fucking way!  I gotta go see England,” Sams said, jumping up, half-eaten breakfast still covering his tray. 

He jammed the tray into the galley window and rushed off to see the staff sergeant, almost at the run.

“They really going to keep him on the ship?” Wan asked.

“Nah, they won’t, but it’s good to yank his chain.  He’s been bragging about nailing that miner so much, he needed to be taken down a notch,” T-Rex told him.

“That said,” Corporal Pallas added, “your civvies really need to pass muster for a place like Vegas.  I don’t know about you all, but I didn’t expect this, and I think I might need to hit the ship’s store for something better than my ripped t-shirt.”

Even on a combat mission, Marines always traveled with at least one set of civvies.  Ryck’s were brand new, so he thought they would be fine.  It wouldn’t hurt to check them, though.  No way he wanted to be delayed in getting off the ship.

Vegas! 

Chapter 18

 

 

“You’re really trolling for more brig time, aren’t you?” Pallas asked Sams as the private showed off the new tattoo on his upper arm, a Star, Globe, and Anchor with “Third Marine Division” written below it. 

Ryck took another swig of his Bud while he examined Sams’ bodywork.  Tattoos were against Marine regs.  It has something to do with how tattoos could affect both regen and how biosensors monitored the body’s readings.  There was no such restriction in the Navy, and many Marines got them when they left the service, but active-duty Marines were required to keep their bodies clean.  No tats, no genmods.

“Ah, that’s the beauty of this.  Look!” Sams said while flexing his biceps.

He reached across with his left hand and pushed at something.  To Ryck’s surprise, the tattoo disappeared.  That caught his interest.

He leaned closer to look and asked, “How did you do that?”

Wan, Pallas, Hu, T-Rex, and Smitty leaned forward, too, Hu knocking over his Slicer Lite to spill on the peanut covered floor of the bar.

“Alcohol abuse!” was shouted out by the rest of them in unison, as was expected, but their attention was on Sams as he did something else with his left hand that caused the tattoo to re-appear.

“It ain’t a tattoo.  Me and Aesop here,” he started, tilting his head back on the lance corporal who’d come in with him, “saw this place over on Sahara, by the Poseidon Club, and we went in.  This is what they call a ‘refractive body art,’ or some bullshit.  It has to do with light waves and such, and when I touch this point here,” he said, indicating a small point at the top of the anchor, “it polarizes so it goes stealth-like.”

He pushed the spot, and the tattoo disappeared again. Corporal Pallas grabbed the bigger Marine by the arm and pulled him closer so he could see the arm better.  He ran a finger over the spot where the tattoo had been visible only a few seconds before.

“No shit!” Hu said, reaching out to touch Sams’ arm as well.

“I don’t know,” T-Rex said.   “It looks like a tattoo, and I bet the first sergeant’s going to have your ass over it.”

“It’s not a tattoo,” Aesop said.  “They had it all explained.  This is brand-new techno.”

“So, where’s yours if it ain’t a tat?” T-Rex asked him.

“Well, they said it wasn’t a tattoo, but like you said, you think the first sergeant’s going to buy that?  I’ve got seven more months in this green machine, and I’m getting out with the stripes on my sleeves.  I need my VSEB[19] if I’m going to go to school.”

“Chicken shit excuse if you ask me.  You’re out with your liberty buddy, and you let him do that if you think it might be illegal?  Sams might be a busted-down private, but all that means is you still outrank him,” Pallas reminded him.

Marines and sailors were not allowed to wander alone while on ship’s liberty.  Vegas was a safe haven—other than losing your money, not much else would happen as the police kept a pretty tight lock on the tourist spots on the planet.  Almost “anything goes” in Vegas, but the police kept violent crimes at a minimum.  They wanted tourists to come back again and spend more.  It was common knowledge that for a place such as Vegas, the liberty buddy concept was more there to protect Vegas from Marines and sailors than the other way around.

The two newcomers grabbed seats as Sams ordered another round for everyone.  Hu, Sams, and Wan continued to discuss the regulatory ramifications of Sams’ “refractive body art.”  Hu was debating on getting one himself.  Pallas and T-Rex were discussing the GFL and the upcoming season.  Smitty, getting deeper into his cups, was softly singing to himself.  Ryck just leaned back to watch the dancers on the stage.  To say they were hot was an understatement, and Ryck had been socially and physically celibate since leaving Prophesy.  The tall redhead on the left was particularly stunning.  Like all the rest, she had on bikini bottoms made with the same flashing LED fabric as Lysa used to wear while “working,” but while he

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