Magician Interrupted (8 page)

She studied his face and then nodded. “You
seem happy, what are you up to?”

He just smiled. For the first time in his
life he really felt a part of something. The mission had been
boring and while his team laughed at him as he tripped over the
hatch lip charging into the station they had also helped him
recover and they took their quadrant with ease.

“I’m the token alien.”

“I see. Does that make you happy?” She
blinked as she looked up at him.

“Path, don’t do that psycho-anal stuff on
me.”

She huffed and sat back down curling her legs
under her. He ignored her surly mood and went to get himself a
drink. “We need a token chick in the squad next according to the
guys.”

At the silence behind him he turned lifting
the cup to his lips. He took a sip and looked around the little
room. “Path?”

He hung around her cabin for longer but she
didn’t come back. “Sulky cat.”

Paris headed back to his cabin and read over
his medic notes again. It didn’t look too hard to mimic the actions
of a medic. The only thing he had to do on the last mission was
attach a bandy-aid. He watched the marine records again, taking in
the postures and songs. He had a good memory so that helped.

Falling asleep was easy with a little sleep
spell.

The next morning he dressed and headed to the
mess. The guys were already up and seemed excited about something.
He grabbed a tray and selected some food before heading over. Just
as he sat down the guys’ attention all shifted to behind him.

“Hi, marines!”

Paris’s spoon froze on the way to his
mouth.

Path moved from behind him, with tray in
hand, and squeezed between Jackson and Chezza. She grinned cheekily
at Paris who hadn’t yet recovered.

“I’m the token chick.”

“Fuck yeah!” they bellowed out.

Paris’s mouth fell open. No. No. No. This was
his moment! His moment to be a part of something and now his stupid
cat was here.

“We’ve got the next op.” Jackson glanced
around the table. “On planet for a few months. That includes some
R&R.”

At the woots Paris realized he wasn’t the
only one who found ranger life suffocating. Though, he was only new
and his squad had been around for some time.

“They just set coordinates for Tasia, heavy
grav but we’ll get antigrav suits to wear. Intel says smugglers are
using the smaller continent so we go in after the meat and take
over the operations. Once there we do inventory and shit, and then
we get to play the smugglers, do a meet and greet with the
buyers—finish off with a deal.”

Paris was beginning to see a problem. “But
that sounds more like a job for the special marine division?”

They all stared at him.

Jackson was the first to recover. “We are the
special division, alien. What’s with you?”

“Yeah, token alien,” said Path with a
smirk.

“Shut up, token chick.” Paris leaned forward
and the others copied. “What was with the space station
mission?”

Messma laughed. “We were bored while they
nabbed the army deserters questioning them to get details of their
next drop so they gave us an extra job. When me and Chezza snuck
away we did a little shopping.”

“Ah.”

Jackson now was studying him. “The pill
didn’t work on you, did it? Your alien DNA?”

Path gave him a quick nod. It was time to
fess up. “No.”

Jackson rubbed his tanned cheek. “Well,
you’ve done pretty good considering. Can you fill your medic role?
We really count on that.”

“That’s not a problem.” Instead of studying
medical stuff he’d turned to calling up spells to heal, binding
them to him.

“Good.”

“He did a good job with this,” Chezza said
holding up his finger with the bandy-aid still attached.

They all laughed.

Paris lifted his arm and moved his hand
around. “It’s all in the wrist action.”

He could tell they wanted to make jokes about
wanking but that wasn’t allowed anymore, another directive from the
commander.

“And you can fight right? The medic is great
an’ all but our medic needs to be able to kill to. And not that ‘do
no harm’ shit, if your enemy is down and squealing like a pig
you’ve gotta leave ‘em.” Kabab’s dark eyes were as hard as they
were serious. “POWs are not our concern.”

Paris smiled nastily and it wasn’t lost on
the marines. “Not a problem. Killing is actually a requirement
where I come from.”

Jackson raised his pale eyebrows.

Path nodded. “I come from the same planet and
killing isn’t a problem. The village children are all conscripted
to learn to fight. There are creatures, raiders, marauders, or
gangs that attack the villages.”

“Alright.” Jackson resumed eating but looked
unconvinced.

Paris explained, “It’s not army but militia …
hang on, what did you mean about the meat going down?”

They all avoided his eyes for a moment.

Path snorted. “Paris! The meat grinder. The
front lines usually always get butchered.”

That just made him feel sick.

Chezza drawled, “Don’t you send in the front
line in the militia?”

“No. We have secret watchtowers and set up
traps.”

“That’s cold, man.”

What sort of special marines were they?
Evidently not black ops. Paris snarled, “Sure, as cold as sending
in raw recruits to their deaths!”

“Calm down, marines.” Jackson finished his
steak. “That’s not our unit, alright? We work more circumspectly
but we do need the way cleared. Everyone does their part.”

Paris spooned in his porridge not able to eat
steak for breakfast ... yet. He should be grateful that he wasn’t
“meat”. Those soldiers may think they were dying for some good
cause. “What’s the importance of the operation?”

“Briefing, in thirty.”

“Right. You can test our skills too, in
battle.”

Jackson smiled now, his face relaxing.
“Sure.”

At the briefing Jackson, as squad leader,
took his place in the front of the tiny room. There were six chairs
making up two rows. There was a monitor at the front and a little
podium. The hatch was sealed. Paris sat in the middle.

Chezza sat next to him and leaned closer.
“It’ll be your turn on the forth mission. The new commander says we
gotta take turns.”

Even Paris could see the stupidity in
that.

There was laughter right behind them. Messma
leaned forward. “Yeah, but we all support each other so it’s no big
deal.” He slapped Chezza on the head. “Stop trying to freak out our
newbie.”

“You’re not the boss … today.”

They all sniggered.

“Shhhhh.”

“Thank you, Path.”

His feline gave him an annoyed look and
turned her Cheshire cat smile to Jackson.

“Attention token yella (Chezza), brown
(Kabab), black (Messma), alien (Paris) and chick (Path).”

They laughed at “whitey (Jackson)”.

“Now, for my next act I’m going to present
the mission.”

“Ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are. You. Ready. Marines?” Jackson flexed
his muscles and then puffed out his chest bashing it in a joke.

“Yeah!”

Everyone laughed except Path who was
drooling.

“Path?” Paris asked.

“Huh?”

He tossed her a tissue. “Mop up, pussy
cat.”

She blushed prettily. “Thank you, Paris.”

Paris tried not to think about the remarks
around about pussy and mopping up. He slapped any head close to him
instead, gaining another notch as “one of the guys”.

After the briefing they went to the shooting
gallery and then into a small sparring room. It only took several
minutes before Jackson walked over and helped Messma up. He
inspected the cut on his dark lip.

“Clean that up.” He glanced at Paris who was
perspiring. “I think that’s enough. Welcome to the Hammer
Squad.”

“Ooray!”

Jackson slapped him on the head.

“Oorah!”

“Better.” Jackson watched as Path and the
others left the room and he turned to Paris. “Why don’t you like
saying ‘Oorah’?”

Paris grimaced. “Noticed that did you?”
Without waiting for an answer he said, “Just some bitch back home
is named ‘O’rah’.”

“Ah,” Jackson said with a grin and headed
out. “Just remember when you say ‘Oorah’ you can imagine firing a
bullet in her head. You are a good shot. You were a sniper weren’t
you, on the watchtower?”

Paris nodded. “In my younger days before… You
know.”

He nodded. “Good to know.”

Paris finished dressing, no longer quite as
embarrassed by his bony, white body. They’d seen it now. No more
hiding and no one laughed. Path had proven herself a little
spitfire with strange fighting techniques. Only Paris knew why and
tried not to laugh when she hissed and pulled hair.

Paris checked his medic pack before shoving in more
food bars. Magic meant he had to eat more and while he had only to
help his fellow marines, there might be other friendlies he’d need
to help. Path was their new telecommunication expert and after
batting her long eyelashes at Chezza he was happy to take over
patrol work.

He was finally ready.

Standing in his small cabin only for a moment
was enough for him to get the hell out. They had a few months on
planet. As he walked down the narrow companionways he met up with
Chezza, then Messma, then Kabab.

“Where’s Path?” Paris asked.

“Already on the tub with Jackson. I think
she’s got the hots for the current leader.” Messma glanced back at
him with a smirk.

“Yeah, can’t wait till it’s my turn!” Chezza
raised his rifle to bash with Paris’s rifle but he declined. Chezza
asked, “What’s up, man? It’s not loaded yet.”

Paris’s faced burned. “Hold up.”

The three turned and covered for him while he
unloaded his weapon.

“Shit, alien, did we forget to tell you that
rule?”

“Arseholes.” Paris was really getting the
hang of being a marine. “We always load up at home.”

Chezza looked insulted. “We didn’t do that on
purpose. We could all get time in the brig for that.”

Paris felt, and probably looked, sheepish
because Kabab slapped him on the back. “Forget it.”

Two minutes later they boarded the tub and
were loading up their weapons. Paris rolled his eyes while the
others laughed.

“It is kinda funny, alien.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“What’s funny?” Path asked appearing from
behind a stack of crates being lashed down by Jackson.

To his relief the guys told her a crude story
to which she giggled even as Paris blanched and moved quickly away.
He stored his pack and weapons in his locker and made comfortable
in his seat. The tub was small and seats were on either side. At
the back, near the rear hatch, were the crates. Jackson came
through checking their stuff. Paris asked, “I thought you were the
leader?”

“Yeah, the commander says that leaders need
to be humble so they gotta do some of the shit jobs as well.”

“Ah huh.”

“That bitch needs a—”

“Chezza! Enough.”

Chezza laughed and sat down. “Sure, sir.”

After they settled Paris looked behind him as
the rear hatch closed and they were sitting in the dark. “Whose
piloting?”

A dark hand rose in the seat before him and
waved what looked like a games console. “Me.”

Suddenly they were jerking in their seats,
lights came on, and Paris could hear a tinny voice giving them the
all clear. He’d seen the specs on the ranger they were in, it
looked more like a capsule than a war-like spacecraft. The energy
readings were low and the material non-reflective. The capsule
trundled along something and then wop! Paris was being shoved back
in his seat, he heard Path squealing in laughter.

They jerked to the right, then left, and
slowly his cheeks filled out again in the right places. He rubbed
them to get the circulation back. They had no monitors to watch
what was going on. The first ten minutes were kinda fun. The next
ten hours were boring. Paris looked across at Chezza who was
reading. Ahead he could hear Path and Jackson chatting away. Kabab
was snoring just ahead of Chezza.

Paris sighed and jumped as a book was thrown
in his lap. He turned seeing the almond-shaped eyes on him.

“Sigh again and I’ll have to kill you.”

“This book better be good then.”

Chezza leaned over. “You getting sassy with
me, marine?”

Paris reached over and rubbed the short crop
of dark hair. “Be a good boy and learn your ABCs.”

Chezza grabbed his hand. “This is Chinese
burn. My grandfather showed me.”

“Yeow! Alright, enough.”

Jackson yelled at them. “Keep from making
politically incorrect remarks boys, the commander wants the files.
Messma?”

“Yeah, I’ll erase that shit out.”

Paris snorted. “So, our Chinese marine can’t
say Chinese burn but we can say ‘shit’?”

“Good point. Messma?”

“Fucking erase our files and give ‘em all
Alien burn on the way out.”

“Oorah.”

“Ooray.” Paris laughed.

Jackson yelled. “Give that marine a smack on
the head!”

Paris leaned over to Chezza. “Hey, what does
Chinese burn mean anyway?”

Chezza shrugged. “No idea.” He smacked him on
the head.

Paris rubbed his sore head. “The marines, or
rather the commander obviously doesn’t care about aggravation.”

“She likes that marine show where the old
ex-gunny slaps all his team around.”

Kabab raised his voice, “Na, she just likes
the ex-gunny actor.”

Paris sighed.

They settled down and Paris dozed after
reading a little when they were told to go to the toilet. “Take a
piss, boys, and chick. We’re on in thirty.”

One by one they filed at the back to use the
tiny room. Paris wiped his hands and headed back out. Path squealed
when she got there. “You pigs! I should have gone first.”