“Please leave,” said Inger.
Galen left. He went back to his barracks and lay on his cot. The other mercenaries were gone, out enjoying their vacation somewhere else. Only Galen and his two friends were still checked into the bay. He felt jealous of the man in the bath towel. He felt angry with Inger, not only for being a whore but also for being a ragged-out old girl when Galen thought she was young and beautiful and interested in him.
But mostly he was upset with himself for feeling the way he did about Inger. He created his own Inger, one that had little resemblance to the real one. Finally he undressed and crawled into bed, wondering why he had to live in an open-bay barracks with no personal space beyond a foot locker under a bunk while the garrison soldiers had apartments of their own. Galen slept.
Chapter Eleven
Six hours later the automatically-timed bright lights of the bay came on and woke Galen. He sat up and placed his bare feet on the cold wooden floor. A cord hung around his neck with a key dangling from it. He slid the foot locker from under the cot and removed the cord from around his neck and used the key to open the lock of the foot locker. He took out his unit-issued athletic shorts and t-shirt and a pair of running shoes and dressed and left the barracks. It took him ten minutes to walk to the five kilometer jogging trail and he found the exercise stations under the pavilion at the starting point. Galen stretched his legs, did fifty pushups, fifty sit-ups and twenty chin-ups. The cool morning air was refreshing. He strode onto the jogging track and started running.
It was a month at least since the last time he ran. Field duty and combat had been physically demanding and had given him more strength in his muscles, but running was a different kind of exercise. After a kilometer he was sweating and had a hard time getting enough air. He slowed his pace, caught his breath and let the pain in his side dissipate. Soon he felt fine and broke into a sprint. His knee started to hurt and he tried to block the pain mentally but that didn’t work. He slowed to a moderate run, but that didn’t help either. At the four kilometer marker he had to walk. His knee was still sore when he reached the end of the jogging trail so he sat on a bench and relaxed, let his body cool down.
At the academy, less than a month ago, he ran ten kilometers three times a week. His knee never bothered him before. He never felt that tired before. But, he’d never gone so long without sleep before, and never went on tactical foot marches of such long duration before. He never traveled in space before, and never went into combat as a grunt before. And he’d never killed anyone before.
A runner went past, taking long strides and moving fast. Some gravel the runner kicked up bounced over to hit Galen’s foot. Galen wanted to chase after the runner, catch up and then pass her, but he knew he was not in good enough shape. But he would be, he thought. He would be. After his knee felt better and his heart slowed to its resting rate, he decided to walk back to the barracks. The mess hall was open for breakfast so Galen went inside. A Mandarin woman was seated at a desk by the entrance.
“Sorry, you can’t come in here dressed like that.”
“What?” said Galen.
“You can’t wear exercise clothing in here. You can wear civilian clothes, but no shorts and no t-shirts and your clothes must be clean and have no holes or tears. Sorry.”
“No problem,” Galen went to his barracks, showered and put on his only set of civilian clothes. He was putting the lock back on his foot locker when Tad and Spike came into the bay.
“Out all night, guys?” said Galen.
Tad sat on Galen’s bunk. “Oh yeah. You should have stayed with us. Had a great time.”
Spike stretched out on his bunk and started snoring.
“So what have you been up to, barracks rat?”
“I got a good night’s sleep and went jogging. What’s wrong with Spike?”
“He drank too much. I met this awesome chick, a waitress at the Outlander Bar,”
“Outlander?”
“Yeah. That’s what they call us people from off-planet. Anyway, it’s a good bar. And that waitress, I think she likes me. When she got off work, me and Spike went to her apartment. Her roommate got drunk with Spike, but me and her, we sat and talked and watched some vids.”
“Didn’t score?”
“Hey, with decent girls these things take time.”
“What’s her name?” said Galen.
“Who?”
“The awesome waitress you love so much.”
Tad thought a moment. “I have a reason to see her again, so I can get her name.”
Galen said, “Yeah, right.”
“Come with us tonight. You’ll like this bar.”
“Okay, but only if you go to breakfast with me.”
“I’m starving, let’s go.”
Tad and Galen entered the mess hall. They showed their military ID cards to the Mandarin woman at the front and she waved them through. They walked down the cordoned-off aisle through the center of the dining area to the opposite wall. There were metal trays and flatware at the beginning of the serving area.
“What you like eggs?” asked the Mandarin cook. He was young, probably fifteen. He wore white coveralls.
“Scrambled,” said Galen. The cook took the lid off a warming pot and used a big spoon to dig out a serving of scrambled eggs.
“Fried,” said Tad. The cook cracked three eggs into a bowl, spread some grease on the grill and then poured the eggs on it.
“What else you want?”
“Bacon and toast.”
The cook put bacon on the plate, “You make own toast, over there.”
Galen took his plate and went to the toast machine. He made four slices and grabbed a handful of grape jelly packages. Then he went to the milk dispenser and filled three glasses. The mess hall was built to hold about five hundred people, but barely a dozen mercenaries were there. Galen chose a table near the exit. The table was round, made of solid steel, and was surrounded by eight chairs.
“Good, correct, terran-style food,” said Tad. He sat down across from Galen. Tad’s tray was heaped with food. Pancakes, French toast, deep-fried potato patties, toast and butter and jelly.
“You must be hungry.”
“Real food, Galen. Not field rations, not synthetic garbage, but real food! Makes me more confident about my career choice.”
“I appreciate a good meal but I’m not fanatic about it.”
Tad shoved breakfast into his mouth, ignoring Galen. Galen ate his food sensibly, chewing each bite. But he still finished eating before Tad. Galen got a cup of coffee and sipped it while Tad finished eating. “So what do you think we’ll be doing for our first mission?” Galen hoped Tad was done eating. All the food was gone from his tray.
Tad said, “I don’t know. Anyway, you’ll love this bar. It’s awesome.”
Galen had hoped the subject wouldn’t come up. “Sure, I’ll see for myself tonight. What cycle are we in after this break?”
“I think we got school. I heard Mortinson say we’d do one cycle at the armor platoon leader course, then ship out.”
“I thought we’d be here a year.”
“No, we’ll get promoted to Chief and then go out to the fleet. The old man won’t waste too much time training us, we’re academy graduates.”
“I’d almost forgotten that.” Galen finished his coffee.
“Yeah. We ought to be going to officer school. But I guess they have enough officers.”
Galen leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers behind his head. “You know what? The garrison troops have nice barracks.”
“They live here. We’re transient.”
“Yeah I know. They just seem more like government troops instead of mercenaries.” Galen realized he was feeling hostility toward Inger and all the rest of the garrison soldiers because of her. He tried to let it go.