“Yes, sir. I don’t know anything about Bennet Industries—but I’m sure the name was Bennet. Anyway, when we came back from the raid on Brucker’s base, two MSS agents were waiting to interview Kydd. And later, after he returned to the barracks, he told Tychus that the agents were checking to see if he was Bennet.”
“And?”
“And he told them he wasn’t,” Cassidy continued. “Because somewhere along the line he changed his mind and wants to stay in the service.”
“So he is Bennet?”
“That’s what both Findlay and Raynor believe,” Doc reported. “I wasn’t sure whether the Kydd situation would be of interest to you. But I brought this along just in case.”
So saying, Cassidy removed a plastic-encased slide from her shirt pocket and placed it on the surface of the desk.
Vanderspool eyed the object as Doc pushed it toward him. “What have we here?”
“That’s a sample of Kydd’s DNA,” the medic replied simply. “I had to sample the entire squad in order to get it. They believe it’s part of a routine medical test.”
“You are a clever little bitch,” Vanderspool said appreciatively. “Is there anything else?”
“I’ve noticed that he has a thing for Sanchez … follows her around like a puppy dog.”
“Okay. The Kydd thing is intriguing though unimportant. Keep it to yourself, however… .” Vanderspool said, as he toyed with the test tube. “Dismissed.”
Doc rose, did an about-face, and left the officer. The session had gone well, all things considered, and she felt relieved.
As Doc left the car she was shocked to see Tychus standing on the platform waiting for her! Did he suspect? No, judging from the big smile on his face, Tychus had other things on his mind. “Hey, babe,” he said, as he draped a massive arm around her shoulders. “I heard you were here.”
“Yeah,” Doc replied. “You know how the personnel people are… . I had to sign some form or other … what a pain in the ass.”
“And that’s what I was thinking about,” Tychus said with a wicked grin. “Not the pain … the other part. Or both. What would you say to a first class dinner at my place—and a roll in the hay to follow?”
Cassidy gave him a back-handed blow to the gut. It was like hitting a rock. That was one of things she liked about Tychus. He was built, and in spite of what some people said, size matters. Or it did where she was concerned. So even if her relationship with Tychus wasn’t entirely of her own choosing, it was often pleasurable, and absolutely necessary. Due to the wars, crab was almost impossible to buy on the street anymore. She felt a strong desire to touch the metal box through her clothing, to confirm that it was there, but managed not to do so. “You don’t have a place,” Cassidy temporized. “Other than your bivvy bag, that is.”
“Oh, yes I do!” Tychus replied cheerfully. “Money talks… . I’m the proud owner of a utility closet. Complete with deep sink.”
“We’ll see how dinner goes,” Doc said. “Who knows? If you chew with your mouth closed you might get lucky. And stop that… . How many times have I told you? Don’t pat my ass in public!”
Tychus chuckled happily as he led her up a floor and through a confusing maze of hallways. Finally, having unlocked a door labeled maintenance, he stood to one side. As Doc entered the pitch-black, concrete room, Tychus aimed a flashlight at the mattress on the floor. “See?” Tychus said proudly, as he towed Cassidy over to the makeshift bed and pulled her down. “All the comforts of home.”
As Doc knelt on the mattress she saw that a bottle of Tychus’s favorite booze was sitting next to it. Normally her lover didn’t go in for much foreplay, but rather than simply grab her the way he usually did, Tychus surprised Cassidy by producing a box and shoving it her way. “Happy birthday, sexy, I hope this is okay.”
Doc stared in disbelief. Chocolates? Tychus wasn’t the kind of guy who bought a girl chocolates. Was she totally wrong about him? About all of this? She was shocked by a sudden swell of emotion; at once she felt sad, guilty, and completely undeserving of Tychus’s affection. Even so, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Not because she wanted to make love to him at that particular moment, but because of the tears that were trickling down her cheeks, and the opportunity to bury her face in his shoulder.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“Bein’ a medic isn’t too different from bein’ a soldier. I just kill in reverse.”
THE CITY OF POLK’S PRIDE, ON THE PLANET TURAXIS II
The factory and its adjoining machine shop were set up in the spacious maintenance facility where subway cars had been repaired back before the war. Tracks led into open bays that were now occupied by goliaths. The goliaths stood with cockpits open as pilots and technicians ran final checks, a power wrench screeched, and the bitter smell of ozone laced the air.
Further back, in the brightly lit room once occupied by workbenches, row upon row of CMC-300 suits could be seen, all hanging from carefully aligned racks. It was 0214 hours, and the attack on the Kel-Morian repository was due to begin in less than two. There were plenty of jokes, and nearly nonstop banter, as the men and women of the 321st Colonial Rangers Battalion began to seal their suits.
But as Raynor stepped into his armor and went about the process of connecting the padlike interfaces to various parts of his body, he knew what the people around him were really thinking. How many of us will be badly wounded? How many of us are going to die? And most importantly, Will I survive?
Raynor’s suit smelled of someone else’s sweat, but as he examined the readouts on his HUD, all of them came up green. And that was what mattered most. Having jumped into Kel-Morian territory wearing an experimental hardskin, Raynor had a new appreciation for the tried and true.
The “experiment” could more or less have been considered a failure, as the High Command had discontinued Thunderstrike armor following several mishaps during field tests. Though he’d never admit it to Feek, who’d spent countless hours working on the armor, Raynor also had serious doubts about its usefulness in battle.
Needless to say, the project was put on the back burner, with the exception of the 230-XF, which was being converted into a non-jump “firebat” suit. Since the announcement, Harnack didn’t let a day go by without asking Feek when his new suit would be ready.
Having sealed himself in, Raynor made his way over to a freestanding rack, selected the slab-sided gauss rifle that wore the same number his suit did, and took a look at the ammo indicator. It was full up.
From the rack it was a short trip to the table where a private was distributing extra ammo. Then, having completed all of his preparations, Raynor made his way over to the assembly area next to track two. Sanchez was already there with her visor open and a rifle slung over one shoulder. “Where’s Findlay?” she asked.
Before Raynor could answer, Kydd sidled up beside him. “He’s fondling his armor. I think he’s in love with it.”
Sanchez laughed, and when Raynor looked over at his friend, he noticed something that made him smile even more broadly. Kydd was gazing at Lieutenant Sanchez with worshipful eyes. Raynor wasn’t surprised—she was a beautiful woman. Even her laugh had a musical quality. Raynor hoped he would get the chance to hear it again. Max Speer, who was wearing yellow armor with the word media stenciled across his chest plate, was present to capture the moment.