Magician Interrupted (7 page)

Paris’s mouth opened and then closed. He put
his hands on his face and groaned. When Path “suggested” something
it usually happened. A man’s voice sounded close to him.

“Is there anything wrong, sir?”

He looked up and spread his fingers peering
up at the marine. “No, just feeling like an idiot.”

The smartly dressed marine stood stiff in the
aisle. “We’ll be docking with the war ranger in one hour. You may
roam around the blue quadrant and then return to your assigned
seats at the announcement. Is that clear, sir?”

Paris nodded. He stood and noted he was
taller than the marine. In fact, he was taller than most of them.
“One thing I’m not clear on is what to call everyone.”

“Never mind, sir. It’ll be clear once you’ve
spent a night on the old bird.”

Paris kept quiet but met the eyes of Path who
raised her eyebrows.

“I could find out?”

The marine frowned.

Paris shook his head. “No! We’re marines,
Path.”

The marine shouted. “We’re marines!”

A resounding shout echoed around the room and
came from the passage. “Oorah!”

Paris half laughed but saw Path’s warning
look. He resumed a more serious disposition and nodded to the
marine. “Very good, marine.” Paris quickly headed out to explore
the blue quadrant. Most of the hatches were sealed and coded not to
be opened. He was able to access the gym but he quickly left after
being assaulted by the smell and seeing the muscular bodies
parading around. Were they just
that
keen? They were on a
shuttle ranger so why use the gym? He didn’t want to admit he
didn’t want to strip off to give them something to laugh at; his
white, bony body. The next open hatch led to a mess but there was
no one in there so he headed back for their cabin. When he returned
he saw Path curled up in the seat having a sleep. A marine was
gazing at her and sighing while another marine came in with a
blanket, arranging it on her. He leaned down closer to Path and
stood, puzzled.

“What?” the other marine asked.

“Our mascot is purring.”

Before Paris knew it he was sure every marine
allowed in their quadrant came in to listen to Path. At one point
he couldn’t get up to go to the loo. But even when he did reach it
the smell assaulted him.

He backed out and bumped into a marine.
“Anything wrong, sir?”

“Ah, there’s a mess in there.”

The marine frowned and opened the door. He
started yelling, “Corporal Jones!”

“Yes, sir.”

‘Get a private in here. Some idiot broke
protocols. Find whoever it was and bring him or her or it to
me!”

“Right away, sir.”

The marine looked up at Paris and apologized.
“We’ll get the head cleaned a.s.a.p. there’s another across the
way.”

“Some people!”

“They have no respect, sir.”

“Thank you.” Paris got out of the room,
headed for the one across the passage, strangely empty now the
marines were all in his compartment, and after relieving himself
stared at his image in the mirror. The dark eyes and hair stood out
with his pale almost skeletal appearance. Everyone seemed to be
calling each other “sir” and he couldn’t work out the insignias.
Some markings were of solid red squares, some triangles, others
were circles and there were even a couple of love heart shapes.
Maybe it was some kind of secret insignia code. Still, he couldn’t
wait to get on the war ranger and begin in earnest. When he
returned he saw who he thought must be the private cleaning up the
mess and muttering something under her breath. Somewhat embarrassed
he returned to his seat determined not to be an idiot again.

The rest of the trip was uneventful and he
had no screens to watch the docking procedures. Paris filed
through, with Path, through a hatch, an external trap, a tube, into
another trap, then hatch and into another corridor. There were no
portholes, no monitors, no wall displays. He was shown to a small
cabin.

The marine said, “Before I forget make sure
to stow away your gear when not in use.” He also gave Paris a quick
safety talk, and then he said, “Now, this cabin has been assigned
to you, sir. For the duration of your stay.”

“Huh?” Paris noted a few green uniform stacks
folded nicely on the bed with solid red diamond shapes on the
shoulder tabs. Shiny black boots sat next to a rugged pair of
tanned-colored boots on the floor. His pack was there already as
well.

“For the period of time you signed up for,
sir.”

Paris stepped in, ducking through the hatch,
and raised his arms. He could almost touch the wall on either side
while it was about twice as long as he was. The narrow bed was to
his right, a long desk to his left. At the foot of the bed was a
metal chest. Under the desk were cabinets and lockable drawers.
There was a small stool fixed to the floor in what looked like a
concave recess in the desk and a monitor attached to the wall.

“But we get to go on planet don’t we?” Paris
would go nuts in here.

“Depends on the mission. Sometimes we board
other rangers, sometimes space stations, occasionally planets.”

“I see.”

“Actually, sir.” He lifted something off the
little desk. “Here’s your training pill. Once you take it you’ll
see.”

Paris stared at the little plastic container
that was opened. Inside was a yellow capsule.

“Liquid data, sir. It’s called the TC.
Contains your duties while on board, your roster, your first
mission and how to be a marine.”

Paris lifted the pill out. “Liquid data. I
heard about these.”

“You get a few chances to get it right as the
commander likes a big hug club. The last marshal liked a big nookie
club putting it politely, sir.”

Paris grumbled. Just his luck he missed out
on that. “I’d heard the marines don’t have commanders or
marshals?”

He shrugged. “They’re trialing new systems
such as amalgamation of the heads. Like shoving a chef in a jet
fighter if you ask me. But the good news is if she gets booted out
then it’ll be the usual stuff.”

“I haven’t heard marines swearing, is that
the commander’s doing as well?”

The marine rolled his eyes. “Yes, sir. We
have to be polite at all times and watch our language or we get
detention like naughty boys and girls.”

Paris almost found that funny. “What does TC
stand for?”

“Training Corp, sir.” The marine tapped the
desk making it light up. He smiled, came to attention and strode
out. Paris ignored the desk with keyboard rising out between the
concave recess and monitor to lean out of the hatch. He saw Path
waving from a few hatches away. He checked up and down the passage
and headed for her cabin. To his annoyance the mascot’s cabin was
three times as large, she had her own bathroom, and sitting
room.

“This just isn’t fair!” he said turning
around on the spot.

She smiled prettily. “Well, you’ve done
pretty good too.”

He paced around. “Have you even seen my
cabin?”

“Most share with two others while the bottom
few ranks are in one big cargo-like area.”

“Oh.” He felt a little self-conscious
now.

She lifted her pill. “Together?”

He nodded. “Do you have water … I didn’t
notice any in … my … room.”

But she had her own little kitchenette as
well. Grumpily he accepted the cup and on three they took their
pills. He blinked and waited but nothing happened. He looked down
at Path who was tapping her little foot. “Do you feel anything
yet?”

She shrugged. “Mustn’t work on us.”

“What do you mean? They know where we’re
from.”

She waved her hand breezily. “Not where we’re
from. Who we are. There was a clause in the files that said, ‘No
magicians allowed’.”

Paris slapped his hand to his head. “Are you
crazy! Why didn’t you say!” He quickly ran to her hatch, peered out
and tried to close it. It took several goes. He supposed the pill
was supposed to tell him how to operate the hatch controls
properly. He returned and she was curled up on the sofa, her brown
frizzy hair like a cloud, and green eyes innocent. “But Paris, you
signed first. I just followed.”

“Marines don’t just blindly follow!”

“Yes, they do.”

“No, they … oh yeah, you’re right.”

He paced around and clenched his hands before
collapsing on the sofa next to her. “What are we going to do? Do
you even know what sort of trouble we’re in!”

“We’re magicians aren’t we?”

Paris groaned.

She sat up and jumped off the couch heading
to her desk with computer. Her fingers danced over the keyboard and
she called up their files.

“What are you doing?”

“Here. You are a medic with the L Squad. It
lists everything you have to do. But just use magic. What we need
to do—”

“Is get a handle on marine life outside the
jobs.”

“I think you just get a short haircut and say
‘oorah’ a lot.”

Paris laughed at her. “It’s more than that.
But … good thinking.”

She purred and rubbed up against his arm in a
way he used to like when she was a cat but now it was a little
disturbing as it was her breast on his arm.

“Err, Path?”

Purrrrrr?

He began to enjoy it a little more. “Never
mind.”

“Are you ready, marines?!”

“Yeah!”

“Are you ready?! I can’t hear you!”

“Yeah.”

“Absolutely bad arses…”

Paris screwed up his face. He’d heard that
from a movie from Earth. It had aliens in it. With his new, short
haircut, medic bag, and L Squad duties he’d picked up being a
marine fast. He used a slight mimicry spell that allowed him to
copy actions and ways of speaking. It was what he called a loose
spell because it didn’t bind him fully, so he could prevent himself
from saying stupid things like, “I did my nails last night” or
“give me some of that—” no, he couldn’t even finish that last
comment. At first he didn’t know what it meant and then over dinner
it suddenly dawned on him and he ran out vomiting. He just wasn’t
that kind of guy! His idea of nookie night was more cuddling than
sex.

He liked romance and soft music.

He liked roses and poems.

Maybe marines hadn’t been such a good
decision but they weren’t all just a bunch of jarheads were
they?

Why didn’t girls like nice guys with pale,
bony bodies?

He had nice eyebrows.

But being in the marines was only for twenty
years so it wasn’t too bad. He was sure he would manage.

In his squad was Jackson, Messma, Kabab (meat
on a stick but Paris didn’t get it) and Sanchez. It took him two
seconds to see there was a white one, a black one, a yellow one, a
pink one, and him. It was some kind of politically correct order
from the same commander who didn’t believe in testing. He leaned
over to Chezza. “What am I again?”

“The alien?”

“Yeah, but what color?” he asked as a
joke.

The others laughed. Jackson wiped his nose on
his sleeve. “Every squad’s gotta have an alien on board, green
then. We’re supposed to have a chick too but the commander is uming
and ahing over it.”

“Right.” So it was okay for an alien to die
but not a chick. From other unflattering things he’d heard about
their commander that meant the commander was a “chick” chick and
not an alien chick. Maybe.

They were standing in what looked like a box
with places for them to stand and be strapped into. The box would
be ejected, ranged to a place, on this mission it was to a space
station, and they would run out screaming with guns firing. It
wasn’t like the movies at all. First he’d been inside the shuttle,
then inside the war rangers, and now inside the box. Soon he’d be
inside the space station and once they had contained their section
then they’d just sit there until it was time to get back in the
box, ranged back to the war ranger. He missed seeing the “outside”.
Paris had complained to Path the night before and she just said,
“You’d die.”

His fellow marines were more sympathetic.
“Just watch it when we get back.”

“No way, Chezza.” Kabab whined. “I’m not
watching work in my recreational time.”

Chezza scratched his balls. “Just think of it
like a sci-fi movie, it’s not like the cameras will be on us.”

But it was. After some wrestling they sat and
watched and all they saw was their footage from their personal
cams. Paris threw some popcorn at the screen. “Where’s the ranger
views?’

Messma glanced around the room and pulled out
his tablet. “Hold tight.”

Jackson got up and checked the passage. His
blond head of hair disappeared around the corner before reappearing
and he sealed the hatch. “Hurry up anyway.”

They saw an image appear.

Paris stared at it. “That’s it?”

“You’ve got no appreciation, alien. That’s an
outside view of our mission. In the corner you can just make out
the space station.”

Paris screwed up his face and then said with
a grin. “If you could just compile a bunch of shots and then add
some music?”

Chezza tackled him off the chair and on to
the floor. After some roughhousing, something the commander
allowed, they tried to hack into the ranger systems and create a
“movie”.

“This is fucked up, man!” Chezza
complained.

“Shut up, Chezza. You’ll be labelled ‘potty
mouth’ and have to walk around with that stupid hat.”

As long as it didn’t have a rat in it, Paris
thought snidely, and suppressed a little shiver. He shook his head.
The commander didn’t like swearing but humiliating the marines was
okay. “That chick is a bitch.”

His comment endeared him to his squad.

Path jumped up as he entered her cabin later
and her eyes went wide. “What happened to you?”

“Just some friendly tussling with the
guys.”