Never Afraid Are We: 02
Apr. 8th, 2006 09:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrPlease keep in mind these are all insanely rough ^^ They're kind of fun just to write w/out looking back. I'll go through and smooth it all out eventually. Once I have a bit of a better grasp. Until then, hope the story is mildly entertaining. I apologize for errors, inconsistencies et al. I promise to present a polished version eventually. Until then, pardon a writer her occasional lazy indulgences ^^;;;
And after I get a shower, I need an icon for this story.
02
Marriage ceremonies are, ultimately, pretty goddamn fucking boring. Chip-heads think they’re the hottest thing to ever walk the goddamn planet. Near as I can tell, they’ve thought that way since the beginning of fucking time. Ego personified, chip-heads. Put them together with a group of panicked civis?
Fuck if they got time to motherfucking do their goddamn job. God fucking forbid.
Ceremony is too pretty a fucking word for it. It’s just a meeting with brass and a chip-head; they tell you where you stand Compatibility wise, explain what to expect, how to deal, and the chip-head gives you the rings and wires you all together.
Very anti-climatic.
Until the bond hits anyway. Starts as a headache, and you just spend a few hours pissy or bitchy. Usually bitchy. Soldiers can go into space, get the living shit kicked out of them and not say a single goddamn word. But the minute they get back to base and realize their arm is broken?
Bitch bitch fucking bitch. Fucking pussies about little shit, and I ain’t excluding me from this. Fucking hell, I’d rather get blown up by a Jackalope and wind up fucking dead than go home and sit in fucking bed for months while my broken legs healed. Spare me or blow me the fuck up, just don’t fucking me put me in goddamn medic.
After the headache, it gets a bit weird. Like you can just barely hear a conversation in a different room and it’s driving you fucking insane. You can hear enough to know someone is saying something, but not enough to know what they’re saying and when doesn’t that fucking drive anyone up the goddamn wall?
Then it hits, and almost every time all three freak out. Some are better at dealing with it than others. It has to do with how private a person you were to begin with, how shy you are by nature.
Very few of us in SCAU would ever be described as shy the way most people mean it. Fucking hell, if you’re that shy you’d probably never be invited into SCAU. Just ain’t no time for that.
Yeah, everyone gets freaked by the idea of two guys possibly having access to his every thought. The idea that there will always be two people in your brain to some degree. But if we weren’t thought capable of dealing with it, we never would have been invited.
General Rafferty always said it best: the type never invited to SCAU are best described as those who stand in front of an audience and picture everyone in their underwear. Those invited to join SCAU are the sort who would walk onto stage in their underwear, if not outright fucking naked.
Yet another reason everyone thinks we’re completely fucking mental.
“Well, gentleman. I hope this is really what you wanted, because right about now there’s no going back.”
“Spare us, chip-head,” Rodney said. “And let’s just get to it.”
Benson rolled his eyes but did not tell him to shut up. Instead he shared a look with Jerry, who smiled ruefully.
The chip-head, an older man with soft brown hair and cinnamon-eyes, narrowed those eyes in warning and held his clipboard as though he were contemplating bashing Rodney upside the head with it. “My name,” he said, tapping his badge with his pen. “Is Lossen. Dr. Lossen to you. Use it or you’ll find yourself in lock-up for a week instead of married.”
Rodney nodded, but he didn’t look particularly impressed by the warning. Benson kicked him under the table and ignored the innocent look Rodney shot him. He looked to Mermaid, who waited with arms folded for everyone to shut up. “So this is the part where we hear all about our compatibility right?”
“Right,” Mermaid said, unfolding his arms and turning on a data-file set in front of him. He turned it so they could see. “Except you girls are something like important, according to brass.”
The three of them leaned forward, then whistled as they examined the data before them. “Fuck,” Rod said. “I didn’t know that was actually possible.”
On the small data screen were summaries of their personal profiles, including a chart that mapped their CC. Most often, small graphs were displayed to show the level of LC, marked in yellow, broken down to show where exactly all the compatibility lie – which ranged from sense of humor to breathing patterns. Hundreds of small degrees in which people were exactly alike, or different in ways that perfectly meshed. Every now and then, you found a pair whose CC were marked in blue – NC. There, every little factor was maxed out in blue, and the resultant green showed where the entire trinity most perfectly aligned. In this case, the entire thing was green. Numbers off to the side further emphasized what the green was telling them – all three were Naturally Compatible. They were perfectly matched.
Studying Compatibility was a lifetime endeavor, and new information was constantly coming to light. Sadly, the field was still ill-regarded outside of SCAU. No one, even most of the military, wanted anything to do with what helped make SCAU as strange as it was.
“Shit,” Jerry said softly. “Is your equipment broke?”
Mermaid glared. “Shut the fuck up. I’m not even going to answer that damn question. But I will tell you this – brass is going to be on your asses like stink on shit. Don’t fuck up, and report anything strange in your bond to us immediately. Until now, the best team we had on the force BB Wolf – they’ve got one NC pair and LC levels otherwise are 97 and 98. Brass badly wants to see if you’ll be something different. The rest of us are hoping it won’t you more goddamn annoying than we’re already expecting.” He waved a hand at Dr. Lossen. “Get married. Then you’ve got two weeks leave to get used to it – I don’t want to see your asses anywhere near the goddamn base until fourteen days from now, at eight hundred hours. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” the three men chorused.
“Good.” Mermaid shut the data file off and motioned for Dr. Lossen to begin. “Let’s get to it.”
The door clicked shut behind him and Dr. Lossen gave a long suffering sigh. “Here,” he said and set a long, small box down on the table. He flipped it open and pushed it toward them. “Put these on and then come with me.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned and vanished through a door in the back of the office.
In the box were three rings; three plain bands made of platinum. Yet another expense the government protested, but an argument they had lost. CA’s were the only truly effective means of combating Jackalopes and they couldn’t be operated without the telepathic bond – the machines were too complicated, and one solid hit could shatter communication. Platinum was the only material that worked at the levels SCAU required.
Slipping the rings on, exchanging glances and grins, the three men followed after the snippy doctor.
“Stand there and don’t move,” Dr. Lossen snapped.
The room was standard medic fare – everything either stainless steel, pure white, or plain glass. They moved to where the doctor had indicated, lining up on taped X’s on the floor in front of a large machine, which hummed quietly as it waited to go to work.
Silently Dr. Lossen set to work, checking over the machine and then hooking them up to it, special metal clips fastened to their rings, then wired to electrode-looking things attached high on their necks.
While he worked, a younger man cleaned and swabbed Benson’s arm, much like he was about to draw blood, then picked up a syringe from a nearby table and injected him with a dark blue fluid. Benson grimaced but otherwise gave no sign he’d noticed the shot. He repeated the action with Rodney and Jerry, and gave Dr. Lossen a nod as he finished.
Checking the equipment one last time, Dr. Lossen finally turned to address them. “You are going to feel a tugging sensation at first, then a bit dizzy. It may or may not hurt a bit, that differs from person to person. If at any point it hurts a great deal, tell me at once. There’s a few who are allergic to the activating chemicals, but we don’t know who until the procedure begins. Otherwise, the worst you might feel at the end is a bit feverish and a slight headache. Ready? Then let’s begin.”
“What the fuck are we supposed to do with two weeks of leave?” Benson growled as he slid his sunglasses into place. “Someone make the sun go away.
Rodney laughed beside him and winked at Jerry. “He’s always grouchy when he has a headache.”
“A tough pilot until he’s in pain?” Jerry asked.
“Both of you shut the fuck up.” Benson let them standing on the steps outside headquarters and made for the garage where their vehicles were kept. As he approached it, his car chimed and opened. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he punched in the commands that would put Jerry on the list of cleared passengers and, besides Rodney, the only one cleared to also drive. “Come on, ladies. I don’t know what the hell else we’re going to do, but right we’re drinking.
Rodney groaned as he slid into the backseat after urging Jerry into the passenger. “No more alcohol. I vote we find a room and get better acquainted.”
Benson rolled his eyes and did not dignify that with an answer.
Beside him, Jerry laughed and twisted in his seat to look at Rodney. “I don’t even get a date first?”
For reply, Rodney grinned and then leaned forward and kissed him. Benson rolled his eyes again and called up a map, then gave his car the commands to take them downtown. “NC does not mean you get to molest him, you goddamn slut.”
“You make it sound like I needed an excuse to molest him,” Rodney said unrepentantly. He snaked a hand out to grab Benson hair, turning his head to steal a kiss.
Benson gave in, but only briefly. He shoved Rodney gently back. “True. But you’re not doing it in my car.”
“Yes, mother.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Benson turned from Rodney and regarded Jerry, who returned the look with one of his own, amusement mingling with curiosity. “Aw, fuck it,” he said, defeated, and leaned forward to steal a kiss of his own. Jerry tasted like lemon candy, and something told him that he finally had someone else with a sweet tooth. Rodney had never been a huge fan of anything with sugar.
Jerry kissed him back enthusiastically, proving that as shy and sweet as his little smile was, he was as reserved about such matters as most who joined SCAU – that is, not at all. “This could definitely work,” Benson said at last. “Provided my goddamn head stops hurting at some point.”
Rodney and Jerry laughed, and they all fell into idle chatter as they drove downtown.
“So what did your folks have to say about this, Jerry?” Rodney asked as he finished relating how enthusiastically his own father had thrown him out of the house.
Jerry propped his chin in his hand, elbow braced alongside the care window. “Mom’s dead. Dad and I don’t really talk. Haven’t since I started wearing a uniform.”
“Doesn’t like the military?” Benson asked.
“He’s an Eternalist.”
Rodney and Benson whistled, both reaching out reflexively to soothe him as they’d always soothed each other – with touches, kisses. It should have felt strange, to be three where they’d always been two (with a rare night of exception). “Poor baby,” Rodney said against Jerry’s cheek. “How’d you manage not to join that party?”
Jerry laughed, genuinely amused by whatever memory the question sparked, but there was an old weariness beneath it. “I was part of it for awhile. Then one day a boy kissed me and I kissed him back. About that time I realized my father and I were about to have some problems.”
“I guess so. Sorry, man. Hate when that shit happens.” Benson shook his head.
“Ancient history,” Jerry said with a shrug. “Every now and then he tries to make me see reason; otherwise we don’t talk.” He grimaced. “Look, there’s time for this shit later. Why don’t we discuss something interesting. Like where are we going?”
Rodney pointed out the windshield. “There,” he said, pointing to a large building that stretched out over the water. NW-P3 was situated an hour from Triton, a massive beach city and one of the few good beaches left on the east coast of Grand America. The building was massive, long and wide, with a bright blue roof that guaranteed you could not miss it. “Best seafood on the planet, and they’re not the type to tell SCAU to fuck off.” His tone of voice said there were plenty of places that were the type. “Good prices, well-stocked bar, and they also run a hotel. Most of the staff know us on sight.”
“Used to kicking you out for inappropriate behavior?” Jerry asked, and he asked it so casually that it was a minute before the other two caught on and started laughing.
“Come on,” Benson said as the car parked. He punched in the security codes then slid out of the driver’s seat, spared a moment to rake a hand through his short hair and adjust his clothes. It wasn’t often they got to wear civi clothes, and it would probably be close to a year before they got to again. Somewhat loose, charcoal gray pants, sturdy black boots – not quite as good as his military-issue but not bad – and a long-sleeved tee a few shades darker than his eyes. The shirt had been a farewell gift from his little brother, and it had come with the stipulation that Rodney not ruin it like he ruined all of Benson’s other clothes.
Rodney wore clothes meant to catch the eye of everyone who might be interested in looking. Leather pants with a very faint shimmer – what the street had taken to calling ‘moon-leather’ and a green button down shirt, the top two buttons loose.
Between them, Jerry was far more simply dressed in brown slacks and a dark blue polo. He didn’t protest the arm Rodney slung around his shoulders, a gesture that was rapidly becoming natural.
“So,” Rodney said as they climbed the steps to the restaurant. “Is this—“
“We’re eating in the restaurant like normal people, so shut the fuck up,” Benson interrupted. “It won’t kill you to behave for an hour or three. If I hear a word of protest, it’ll be more like six or seven hours.”
“Yes, sir,” Rodney muttered.
Jerry laughed between them. “You act like you never get laid.”
“Not nearly enough.”
Benson rolled his eyes. “I swear to god, Rod’s the only person I know who actively tried to be a child porn star. I’m not kidding.” He shook his head and warned Rodney to keep his mouth shut with a look as they approached the hostess. “Three, please. Outside if possible, otherwise just near a window.”
“Certainly,” the hostess, a young woman with a cascade of brown curls and dimples, smiled warmly at them and escorted them through the restaurant to the patio in the back. As it was early evening the restaurant was still relatively empty. “Your waitress should be with you in a moment. Enjoy your meal.”
“I always miss the sea when I’m in space,” Jerry said. “The ocean of stars is great but,” he motioned toward the calm green-blue waters, “it’s not this.”
Rodney shrugged. “Location never mattered much to me, so long as I had company.”
“A warm body, you mean?” Benson asked.
“I prefer they make noise, really.”
Jerry smothered a laugh as their waitress arrived, a short strawberry-blonde with green glitter-eyes and a dark tan. “Hey, boys. How’s it going? Oh, a new face. Who’s this?”
“Hey there, Becki,” Rodney said with a smile – not his usual leering smile, but one that held genuine affection. “How’s your dad?”
Becki shrugged. “Doing better, but only going to ever be so good, yeah? But don’t dredge that up, Rod. Who’s the new pretty?”
“New pretty?” Jerry asked with raised brow. “I’m Jerry,” he said and held out his hand, and when Becki grasped it to shake, he kissed the back of it. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“Oh,” Becki said, flustered. Her glitter-eyes sparkled, hundreds of tiny specks of light in countless shades of green. “Manners. Wow. That’s a rarity with these two.”
“Hey!” Benson howled. “I have manners aplenty. Don’t mix me up with that ass.” He pointed a thumb at Rodney.
Becki laughed. “You boys must be parched. What can I get you?”
Rodney motioned lazily. “Usual, sweetness.”
“Rum and coke,” Benson said.
Jerry shook his head at them and ordered a glass of red wine. “So do you think the alcohol will dull the pain?” he said.
“I hope so,” Benson replied, “because I seriously fucking hate headaches.”
“Baby,” Rodney said.
Benson was prevented from replying by the arrival of their drinks. “Thank you, Becki.”
“Sure thing, boys.” Becki beamed as she passed out the drinks. She also set down a platter laden with hunks of torn bred and a delicious-smelling bowl of dip. “ New crab dip recipe, you boys will love it. Now – what are you thinking for dinner?”
“Lobster,” Rodney said instantly.
“Special for me,” Benson said.
Jerry handed over the menus they hadn’t ever really touched. “Shrimp for me, and lots of it.”
Becki winked at him. “I can take care of that. You look too cute to be with this pair.” Then her eyes widened. “Oh! Don’t tell me – are you – do you make three?”
The three men laughed, and Rodney answered. “Yes, he is. We’ve got two weeks off, then we’re on active duty as a full CA.”
“Wow,” Becki said. “I’ll miss you guys.”
“We’ll miss you too, Becki.”
She looked as though she wanted to say more, but shook her head. “Stupid table three,” she muttered. “Back in a bit – enjoy the crab dip.”
Jerry followed her movements a moment. “She’s…awfully accepting for a civi.”
“Her brother was a pilot. He worked for SE-P2, one of their water bugs. Jackalope five years back.” Rodney shook his head, oddly somber. “She’s a good girl. No delusions about what we do, or why. Always good to us, and I’ve seen her refuse to serve men who trash SCAU.” He took a swallow of his beer, then began to help himself to the crab dip. “Shame more aren’t like her.”
Like some of the others in the restaurant and on the patio. Still relatively empty, it would not take long to fill and the few other diners outside with them had looked toward the table more than once. That Rodney, Benson, and Jerry were military was unmistakable. In Triton, that generally meant only one thing – SCAU.
Most of the looks they got were the type that said people preferred to pretend they weren’t there. A few were hostile but not willing to do anything. Very few were friendly or even neutral.
And Triton was one of the friendly towns.
Ignoring the looks, the three continued to talk and joke while they waited for the food, ordering a second round of drinks and a third when their food finally arrived.
“Anyone else starting to feel something beyond a headache?”
“You mean besides the beer, I’m guessing?” Rodney asked. “Yeah, it sounds like someone needs to stop whispering.” He made a face and took a healthy swallow of beer. “I guess soon I’ll never hear the end of your nagging.”
“And I’ll never be free of your goddamn idiocy.”
All three men grinned and began to dig into the food Becki brought them, barely able to thank her before she was called away by a snotty patron on the now-crowded patio.
“Yummy,” Jerry said, licking garlic-butter from one finger before going back to his shrimp scampi. “Good food.”
“Very good,” Rodney agreed, pulling a small bit of meet from a lobster leg. He was paying more attention to Jerry’s licking. “But I would have preferred to eat it in private.” He moved on to another leg, slowly but surely reducing the lobster to a broken carcass.
Benson snorted as he ate his sea bass. “He might be sexy with the butter, but there is nothing appealing about what you’re doing to that poor bug.”
“A very tasty bug,” Rodney said, and tore off another leg with particular relish.
“I dunno,” Jerry said thoughtfully. He took a sip of his wine before continuing. “He’s obviously got clever hands, as nimbly as he does that.”
Rodney smiled at Jerry, then shot Benson a very smug look.
“Don’t encourage him,” Benson said. “Honestly, I was hoping for better from our third.”
Jerry shrugged. “Just an observation.” He grinned behind his wine glass.
Benson muttered under his breath and went back to dinner, spearing a bit of steamed asparagus. “So what else are we going to do with our two weeks?” he asked after several minutes. “Rodney is not allowed to answer.”
“Fuck you.”
“I said you weren’t allowed to answer.”
Jerry snickered and started to speak – but stopped when he noticed the group of men who had approached the table to stand close to Rodney and Benson. “Can we help you?” he asked coolly.
There were two men, and both looked to be quite young – mid twenties at best, probably much younger. They were dressed in dark brown pants and high-necked jackets of beige. The clothes were shapeless, boring. Pinned to the high collars were small pins, made from gold and silver, in the shape of olive branches. “This is a peaceful place,” the man on the right, who had on a small pair of old-fashioned spectacles, spoke in a calm but chilly tone. “You should not be here disrupting it.”
“We’re not disrupting anything,” Benson said levelly. “Just enjoying good food and company. We’d appreciate it if you could leave us to it.”
Rodney started to speak, the expression on his face a promise that he wouldn’t be anywhere near as polite as Benson, but Jerry spoke first. “You are picking this fight, Good Brothers. We’ve created no disturbance. Peace is not found by creating trouble.”
“Your mere presence creates trouble, does it not?” the second man asked. “Had you not burdened this place with your presence, we would not have been forced to point out do you do not belong.”
This time no one spoke before Rodney could. “When the Jackalopes finally break through because you bitches have driven us away, then you come and mother fucking tell me we don’t have any right to be here. Your ass goes on preaching because up in the stars one my comrades just broke a leg or lost his life. Shut the fuck up and go away.”
Tension filled Benson’s face, and across from him Jerry looked even less happy, but neither made to shut their comrade up.
The two men drew themselves up, looking more offended than ever. “It’s the military that created those things.”
“Yes, I know. A grand conspiracy.” Rodney snorted. “Go. The fuck. Away.” When the men didn’t move, but rather looked as though they were settling in for a long haul, he stood, towering over them both. “We haven’t done anything. My only crime is not finishing this lobster, which is entirely your fault. Leave us alone, Eternalists.” He said the word ‘eternalist’ like it was the most vile term ever created.
“I don’t listen to filthy sluts. Leave good people alone and get out.”
Rodney balled his hand into a fist and would have swung if Benson hadn’t caught it.
Not worth it. Just let them bluster.
Yeah, Jerry added. I see management coming. One way or the other, we can break this up without winding up in deep shit with HQ. Stupid Eternalists.
Fuckers. Should just let me punch them. Rodney sat down and sourly finished off his beer, pushing the remains of his lobster away with a grimace. They’ve completely ruined my appetite. What the fuck is so wrong about being a slut?
Benson grinned. Nothing. They’re just jealous because they still don’t know what to do with their dicks outside of pissing.
Jerry choked on his wine, then threw his head back and laughed. You guys never miss a beat.
“Pardon me, gentleman,” the manager said as he reached them, weaving through the maze of tables on the patio. He stared at the Eternalists. “Your table is ready, if you’ll follow me.”
“I’m not sure we feel like eating here any longer. Quiet little whores have ruined my appetite.”
Let’s just go. Jerry set his wine down slowly and stood up. “Stay, please. We’re leaving. But I’ll be sure to report this to your Cathedral, Good Brothers. I’m fairly certain you’ve gone against guidance number fifteen.” He inclined his head politely to the manager. “I had a wonderful time. My compliments to Becki.” Not a propitious beginning.
Yeah, well. We sluts have ways of improving everything.
Do you ever quit! Benson rolled his eyes.
Persistence pays off. Look at what it got me for my twenty-first birthday.
What did it— Jerry was cut off.
“Guys! Hey, Guys!”
They turned around as one and saw Becki running toward them with a large bag. “I’m so sorry!” She stopped in front of them, panting. “Here, brought you dessert.” She held the bag out. “Man, I can def tell you were a team now. You look like all the rest of them, the way you don’t talk to each other and all.
Dead silence fell at her words as for the first time all three realized they hadn’t been talking to each other for the past several minutes. Benson managed to speak first. “So what’s for dessert?”
Becki beamed. “All your favorites. On the house.”
“Make sure you get a massive tip from us, Becki.” Benson pecked her on the cheek. “Take care of yourself. We’ll see you around.”
“You’d better,” Becki said, then turned and ran back into the restaurant.
They watched her go, then Rodney slung his arm around Jerry shoulders and they walked back toward. So I guess we’re done synthesizing.
I guess so. Benson shook his head and unlocked his car. So where are we going, since we’re obviously not staying here.
Jerry let them work it out while he poked through the dessert bag.Wow, I think she put the entire damned fridge in here. There’s like eight kinds of dessert..
Yeah! Rodney leaned over his shoulder and snatched out a long, white box. Chocolate Dream, my first favorite.
First favorite? Jerry turned to look at him, amused.
Rodney licked chocolate cream from his finger, then leaned forward and kiss Jerry hard. Then he reached out and hit something, and Jerry yelped as he tipped forward when his seat fell back. He wound up half in the seat, half on Rodney.
Benson rolled his eyes. You are not screwing around – especially with food – in my car.
Then I guess you’d better find us a room. Rodney grinned, one hand slipping under Jerry’s shirt.
Grumbling, Benson made sure the desserts were out of harms way and gave his car directions.
And after I get a shower, I need an icon for this story.
02
Marriage ceremonies are, ultimately, pretty goddamn fucking boring. Chip-heads think they’re the hottest thing to ever walk the goddamn planet. Near as I can tell, they’ve thought that way since the beginning of fucking time. Ego personified, chip-heads. Put them together with a group of panicked civis?
Fuck if they got time to motherfucking do their goddamn job. God fucking forbid.
Ceremony is too pretty a fucking word for it. It’s just a meeting with brass and a chip-head; they tell you where you stand Compatibility wise, explain what to expect, how to deal, and the chip-head gives you the rings and wires you all together.
Very anti-climatic.
Until the bond hits anyway. Starts as a headache, and you just spend a few hours pissy or bitchy. Usually bitchy. Soldiers can go into space, get the living shit kicked out of them and not say a single goddamn word. But the minute they get back to base and realize their arm is broken?
Bitch bitch fucking bitch. Fucking pussies about little shit, and I ain’t excluding me from this. Fucking hell, I’d rather get blown up by a Jackalope and wind up fucking dead than go home and sit in fucking bed for months while my broken legs healed. Spare me or blow me the fuck up, just don’t fucking me put me in goddamn medic.
After the headache, it gets a bit weird. Like you can just barely hear a conversation in a different room and it’s driving you fucking insane. You can hear enough to know someone is saying something, but not enough to know what they’re saying and when doesn’t that fucking drive anyone up the goddamn wall?
Then it hits, and almost every time all three freak out. Some are better at dealing with it than others. It has to do with how private a person you were to begin with, how shy you are by nature.
Very few of us in SCAU would ever be described as shy the way most people mean it. Fucking hell, if you’re that shy you’d probably never be invited into SCAU. Just ain’t no time for that.
Yeah, everyone gets freaked by the idea of two guys possibly having access to his every thought. The idea that there will always be two people in your brain to some degree. But if we weren’t thought capable of dealing with it, we never would have been invited.
General Rafferty always said it best: the type never invited to SCAU are best described as those who stand in front of an audience and picture everyone in their underwear. Those invited to join SCAU are the sort who would walk onto stage in their underwear, if not outright fucking naked.
Yet another reason everyone thinks we’re completely fucking mental.
“Well, gentleman. I hope this is really what you wanted, because right about now there’s no going back.”
“Spare us, chip-head,” Rodney said. “And let’s just get to it.”
Benson rolled his eyes but did not tell him to shut up. Instead he shared a look with Jerry, who smiled ruefully.
The chip-head, an older man with soft brown hair and cinnamon-eyes, narrowed those eyes in warning and held his clipboard as though he were contemplating bashing Rodney upside the head with it. “My name,” he said, tapping his badge with his pen. “Is Lossen. Dr. Lossen to you. Use it or you’ll find yourself in lock-up for a week instead of married.”
Rodney nodded, but he didn’t look particularly impressed by the warning. Benson kicked him under the table and ignored the innocent look Rodney shot him. He looked to Mermaid, who waited with arms folded for everyone to shut up. “So this is the part where we hear all about our compatibility right?”
“Right,” Mermaid said, unfolding his arms and turning on a data-file set in front of him. He turned it so they could see. “Except you girls are something like important, according to brass.”
The three of them leaned forward, then whistled as they examined the data before them. “Fuck,” Rod said. “I didn’t know that was actually possible.”
On the small data screen were summaries of their personal profiles, including a chart that mapped their CC. Most often, small graphs were displayed to show the level of LC, marked in yellow, broken down to show where exactly all the compatibility lie – which ranged from sense of humor to breathing patterns. Hundreds of small degrees in which people were exactly alike, or different in ways that perfectly meshed. Every now and then, you found a pair whose CC were marked in blue – NC. There, every little factor was maxed out in blue, and the resultant green showed where the entire trinity most perfectly aligned. In this case, the entire thing was green. Numbers off to the side further emphasized what the green was telling them – all three were Naturally Compatible. They were perfectly matched.
Studying Compatibility was a lifetime endeavor, and new information was constantly coming to light. Sadly, the field was still ill-regarded outside of SCAU. No one, even most of the military, wanted anything to do with what helped make SCAU as strange as it was.
“Shit,” Jerry said softly. “Is your equipment broke?”
Mermaid glared. “Shut the fuck up. I’m not even going to answer that damn question. But I will tell you this – brass is going to be on your asses like stink on shit. Don’t fuck up, and report anything strange in your bond to us immediately. Until now, the best team we had on the force BB Wolf – they’ve got one NC pair and LC levels otherwise are 97 and 98. Brass badly wants to see if you’ll be something different. The rest of us are hoping it won’t you more goddamn annoying than we’re already expecting.” He waved a hand at Dr. Lossen. “Get married. Then you’ve got two weeks leave to get used to it – I don’t want to see your asses anywhere near the goddamn base until fourteen days from now, at eight hundred hours. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” the three men chorused.
“Good.” Mermaid shut the data file off and motioned for Dr. Lossen to begin. “Let’s get to it.”
The door clicked shut behind him and Dr. Lossen gave a long suffering sigh. “Here,” he said and set a long, small box down on the table. He flipped it open and pushed it toward them. “Put these on and then come with me.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned and vanished through a door in the back of the office.
In the box were three rings; three plain bands made of platinum. Yet another expense the government protested, but an argument they had lost. CA’s were the only truly effective means of combating Jackalopes and they couldn’t be operated without the telepathic bond – the machines were too complicated, and one solid hit could shatter communication. Platinum was the only material that worked at the levels SCAU required.
Slipping the rings on, exchanging glances and grins, the three men followed after the snippy doctor.
“Stand there and don’t move,” Dr. Lossen snapped.
The room was standard medic fare – everything either stainless steel, pure white, or plain glass. They moved to where the doctor had indicated, lining up on taped X’s on the floor in front of a large machine, which hummed quietly as it waited to go to work.
Silently Dr. Lossen set to work, checking over the machine and then hooking them up to it, special metal clips fastened to their rings, then wired to electrode-looking things attached high on their necks.
While he worked, a younger man cleaned and swabbed Benson’s arm, much like he was about to draw blood, then picked up a syringe from a nearby table and injected him with a dark blue fluid. Benson grimaced but otherwise gave no sign he’d noticed the shot. He repeated the action with Rodney and Jerry, and gave Dr. Lossen a nod as he finished.
Checking the equipment one last time, Dr. Lossen finally turned to address them. “You are going to feel a tugging sensation at first, then a bit dizzy. It may or may not hurt a bit, that differs from person to person. If at any point it hurts a great deal, tell me at once. There’s a few who are allergic to the activating chemicals, but we don’t know who until the procedure begins. Otherwise, the worst you might feel at the end is a bit feverish and a slight headache. Ready? Then let’s begin.”
“What the fuck are we supposed to do with two weeks of leave?” Benson growled as he slid his sunglasses into place. “Someone make the sun go away.
Rodney laughed beside him and winked at Jerry. “He’s always grouchy when he has a headache.”
“A tough pilot until he’s in pain?” Jerry asked.
“Both of you shut the fuck up.” Benson let them standing on the steps outside headquarters and made for the garage where their vehicles were kept. As he approached it, his car chimed and opened. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he punched in the commands that would put Jerry on the list of cleared passengers and, besides Rodney, the only one cleared to also drive. “Come on, ladies. I don’t know what the hell else we’re going to do, but right we’re drinking.
Rodney groaned as he slid into the backseat after urging Jerry into the passenger. “No more alcohol. I vote we find a room and get better acquainted.”
Benson rolled his eyes and did not dignify that with an answer.
Beside him, Jerry laughed and twisted in his seat to look at Rodney. “I don’t even get a date first?”
For reply, Rodney grinned and then leaned forward and kissed him. Benson rolled his eyes again and called up a map, then gave his car the commands to take them downtown. “NC does not mean you get to molest him, you goddamn slut.”
“You make it sound like I needed an excuse to molest him,” Rodney said unrepentantly. He snaked a hand out to grab Benson hair, turning his head to steal a kiss.
Benson gave in, but only briefly. He shoved Rodney gently back. “True. But you’re not doing it in my car.”
“Yes, mother.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Benson turned from Rodney and regarded Jerry, who returned the look with one of his own, amusement mingling with curiosity. “Aw, fuck it,” he said, defeated, and leaned forward to steal a kiss of his own. Jerry tasted like lemon candy, and something told him that he finally had someone else with a sweet tooth. Rodney had never been a huge fan of anything with sugar.
Jerry kissed him back enthusiastically, proving that as shy and sweet as his little smile was, he was as reserved about such matters as most who joined SCAU – that is, not at all. “This could definitely work,” Benson said at last. “Provided my goddamn head stops hurting at some point.”
Rodney and Jerry laughed, and they all fell into idle chatter as they drove downtown.
“So what did your folks have to say about this, Jerry?” Rodney asked as he finished relating how enthusiastically his own father had thrown him out of the house.
Jerry propped his chin in his hand, elbow braced alongside the care window. “Mom’s dead. Dad and I don’t really talk. Haven’t since I started wearing a uniform.”
“Doesn’t like the military?” Benson asked.
“He’s an Eternalist.”
Rodney and Benson whistled, both reaching out reflexively to soothe him as they’d always soothed each other – with touches, kisses. It should have felt strange, to be three where they’d always been two (with a rare night of exception). “Poor baby,” Rodney said against Jerry’s cheek. “How’d you manage not to join that party?”
Jerry laughed, genuinely amused by whatever memory the question sparked, but there was an old weariness beneath it. “I was part of it for awhile. Then one day a boy kissed me and I kissed him back. About that time I realized my father and I were about to have some problems.”
“I guess so. Sorry, man. Hate when that shit happens.” Benson shook his head.
“Ancient history,” Jerry said with a shrug. “Every now and then he tries to make me see reason; otherwise we don’t talk.” He grimaced. “Look, there’s time for this shit later. Why don’t we discuss something interesting. Like where are we going?”
Rodney pointed out the windshield. “There,” he said, pointing to a large building that stretched out over the water. NW-P3 was situated an hour from Triton, a massive beach city and one of the few good beaches left on the east coast of Grand America. The building was massive, long and wide, with a bright blue roof that guaranteed you could not miss it. “Best seafood on the planet, and they’re not the type to tell SCAU to fuck off.” His tone of voice said there were plenty of places that were the type. “Good prices, well-stocked bar, and they also run a hotel. Most of the staff know us on sight.”
“Used to kicking you out for inappropriate behavior?” Jerry asked, and he asked it so casually that it was a minute before the other two caught on and started laughing.
“Come on,” Benson said as the car parked. He punched in the security codes then slid out of the driver’s seat, spared a moment to rake a hand through his short hair and adjust his clothes. It wasn’t often they got to wear civi clothes, and it would probably be close to a year before they got to again. Somewhat loose, charcoal gray pants, sturdy black boots – not quite as good as his military-issue but not bad – and a long-sleeved tee a few shades darker than his eyes. The shirt had been a farewell gift from his little brother, and it had come with the stipulation that Rodney not ruin it like he ruined all of Benson’s other clothes.
Rodney wore clothes meant to catch the eye of everyone who might be interested in looking. Leather pants with a very faint shimmer – what the street had taken to calling ‘moon-leather’ and a green button down shirt, the top two buttons loose.
Between them, Jerry was far more simply dressed in brown slacks and a dark blue polo. He didn’t protest the arm Rodney slung around his shoulders, a gesture that was rapidly becoming natural.
“So,” Rodney said as they climbed the steps to the restaurant. “Is this—“
“We’re eating in the restaurant like normal people, so shut the fuck up,” Benson interrupted. “It won’t kill you to behave for an hour or three. If I hear a word of protest, it’ll be more like six or seven hours.”
“Yes, sir,” Rodney muttered.
Jerry laughed between them. “You act like you never get laid.”
“Not nearly enough.”
Benson rolled his eyes. “I swear to god, Rod’s the only person I know who actively tried to be a child porn star. I’m not kidding.” He shook his head and warned Rodney to keep his mouth shut with a look as they approached the hostess. “Three, please. Outside if possible, otherwise just near a window.”
“Certainly,” the hostess, a young woman with a cascade of brown curls and dimples, smiled warmly at them and escorted them through the restaurant to the patio in the back. As it was early evening the restaurant was still relatively empty. “Your waitress should be with you in a moment. Enjoy your meal.”
“I always miss the sea when I’m in space,” Jerry said. “The ocean of stars is great but,” he motioned toward the calm green-blue waters, “it’s not this.”
Rodney shrugged. “Location never mattered much to me, so long as I had company.”
“A warm body, you mean?” Benson asked.
“I prefer they make noise, really.”
Jerry smothered a laugh as their waitress arrived, a short strawberry-blonde with green glitter-eyes and a dark tan. “Hey, boys. How’s it going? Oh, a new face. Who’s this?”
“Hey there, Becki,” Rodney said with a smile – not his usual leering smile, but one that held genuine affection. “How’s your dad?”
Becki shrugged. “Doing better, but only going to ever be so good, yeah? But don’t dredge that up, Rod. Who’s the new pretty?”
“New pretty?” Jerry asked with raised brow. “I’m Jerry,” he said and held out his hand, and when Becki grasped it to shake, he kissed the back of it. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“Oh,” Becki said, flustered. Her glitter-eyes sparkled, hundreds of tiny specks of light in countless shades of green. “Manners. Wow. That’s a rarity with these two.”
“Hey!” Benson howled. “I have manners aplenty. Don’t mix me up with that ass.” He pointed a thumb at Rodney.
Becki laughed. “You boys must be parched. What can I get you?”
Rodney motioned lazily. “Usual, sweetness.”
“Rum and coke,” Benson said.
Jerry shook his head at them and ordered a glass of red wine. “So do you think the alcohol will dull the pain?” he said.
“I hope so,” Benson replied, “because I seriously fucking hate headaches.”
“Baby,” Rodney said.
Benson was prevented from replying by the arrival of their drinks. “Thank you, Becki.”
“Sure thing, boys.” Becki beamed as she passed out the drinks. She also set down a platter laden with hunks of torn bred and a delicious-smelling bowl of dip. “ New crab dip recipe, you boys will love it. Now – what are you thinking for dinner?”
“Lobster,” Rodney said instantly.
“Special for me,” Benson said.
Jerry handed over the menus they hadn’t ever really touched. “Shrimp for me, and lots of it.”
Becki winked at him. “I can take care of that. You look too cute to be with this pair.” Then her eyes widened. “Oh! Don’t tell me – are you – do you make three?”
The three men laughed, and Rodney answered. “Yes, he is. We’ve got two weeks off, then we’re on active duty as a full CA.”
“Wow,” Becki said. “I’ll miss you guys.”
“We’ll miss you too, Becki.”
She looked as though she wanted to say more, but shook her head. “Stupid table three,” she muttered. “Back in a bit – enjoy the crab dip.”
Jerry followed her movements a moment. “She’s…awfully accepting for a civi.”
“Her brother was a pilot. He worked for SE-P2, one of their water bugs. Jackalope five years back.” Rodney shook his head, oddly somber. “She’s a good girl. No delusions about what we do, or why. Always good to us, and I’ve seen her refuse to serve men who trash SCAU.” He took a swallow of his beer, then began to help himself to the crab dip. “Shame more aren’t like her.”
Like some of the others in the restaurant and on the patio. Still relatively empty, it would not take long to fill and the few other diners outside with them had looked toward the table more than once. That Rodney, Benson, and Jerry were military was unmistakable. In Triton, that generally meant only one thing – SCAU.
Most of the looks they got were the type that said people preferred to pretend they weren’t there. A few were hostile but not willing to do anything. Very few were friendly or even neutral.
And Triton was one of the friendly towns.
Ignoring the looks, the three continued to talk and joke while they waited for the food, ordering a second round of drinks and a third when their food finally arrived.
“Anyone else starting to feel something beyond a headache?”
“You mean besides the beer, I’m guessing?” Rodney asked. “Yeah, it sounds like someone needs to stop whispering.” He made a face and took a healthy swallow of beer. “I guess soon I’ll never hear the end of your nagging.”
“And I’ll never be free of your goddamn idiocy.”
All three men grinned and began to dig into the food Becki brought them, barely able to thank her before she was called away by a snotty patron on the now-crowded patio.
“Yummy,” Jerry said, licking garlic-butter from one finger before going back to his shrimp scampi. “Good food.”
“Very good,” Rodney agreed, pulling a small bit of meet from a lobster leg. He was paying more attention to Jerry’s licking. “But I would have preferred to eat it in private.” He moved on to another leg, slowly but surely reducing the lobster to a broken carcass.
Benson snorted as he ate his sea bass. “He might be sexy with the butter, but there is nothing appealing about what you’re doing to that poor bug.”
“A very tasty bug,” Rodney said, and tore off another leg with particular relish.
“I dunno,” Jerry said thoughtfully. He took a sip of his wine before continuing. “He’s obviously got clever hands, as nimbly as he does that.”
Rodney smiled at Jerry, then shot Benson a very smug look.
“Don’t encourage him,” Benson said. “Honestly, I was hoping for better from our third.”
Jerry shrugged. “Just an observation.” He grinned behind his wine glass.
Benson muttered under his breath and went back to dinner, spearing a bit of steamed asparagus. “So what else are we going to do with our two weeks?” he asked after several minutes. “Rodney is not allowed to answer.”
“Fuck you.”
“I said you weren’t allowed to answer.”
Jerry snickered and started to speak – but stopped when he noticed the group of men who had approached the table to stand close to Rodney and Benson. “Can we help you?” he asked coolly.
There were two men, and both looked to be quite young – mid twenties at best, probably much younger. They were dressed in dark brown pants and high-necked jackets of beige. The clothes were shapeless, boring. Pinned to the high collars were small pins, made from gold and silver, in the shape of olive branches. “This is a peaceful place,” the man on the right, who had on a small pair of old-fashioned spectacles, spoke in a calm but chilly tone. “You should not be here disrupting it.”
“We’re not disrupting anything,” Benson said levelly. “Just enjoying good food and company. We’d appreciate it if you could leave us to it.”
Rodney started to speak, the expression on his face a promise that he wouldn’t be anywhere near as polite as Benson, but Jerry spoke first. “You are picking this fight, Good Brothers. We’ve created no disturbance. Peace is not found by creating trouble.”
“Your mere presence creates trouble, does it not?” the second man asked. “Had you not burdened this place with your presence, we would not have been forced to point out do you do not belong.”
This time no one spoke before Rodney could. “When the Jackalopes finally break through because you bitches have driven us away, then you come and mother fucking tell me we don’t have any right to be here. Your ass goes on preaching because up in the stars one my comrades just broke a leg or lost his life. Shut the fuck up and go away.”
Tension filled Benson’s face, and across from him Jerry looked even less happy, but neither made to shut their comrade up.
The two men drew themselves up, looking more offended than ever. “It’s the military that created those things.”
“Yes, I know. A grand conspiracy.” Rodney snorted. “Go. The fuck. Away.” When the men didn’t move, but rather looked as though they were settling in for a long haul, he stood, towering over them both. “We haven’t done anything. My only crime is not finishing this lobster, which is entirely your fault. Leave us alone, Eternalists.” He said the word ‘eternalist’ like it was the most vile term ever created.
“I don’t listen to filthy sluts. Leave good people alone and get out.”
Rodney balled his hand into a fist and would have swung if Benson hadn’t caught it.
Not worth it. Just let them bluster.
Yeah, Jerry added. I see management coming. One way or the other, we can break this up without winding up in deep shit with HQ. Stupid Eternalists.
Fuckers. Should just let me punch them. Rodney sat down and sourly finished off his beer, pushing the remains of his lobster away with a grimace. They’ve completely ruined my appetite. What the fuck is so wrong about being a slut?
Benson grinned. Nothing. They’re just jealous because they still don’t know what to do with their dicks outside of pissing.
Jerry choked on his wine, then threw his head back and laughed. You guys never miss a beat.
“Pardon me, gentleman,” the manager said as he reached them, weaving through the maze of tables on the patio. He stared at the Eternalists. “Your table is ready, if you’ll follow me.”
“I’m not sure we feel like eating here any longer. Quiet little whores have ruined my appetite.”
Let’s just go. Jerry set his wine down slowly and stood up. “Stay, please. We’re leaving. But I’ll be sure to report this to your Cathedral, Good Brothers. I’m fairly certain you’ve gone against guidance number fifteen.” He inclined his head politely to the manager. “I had a wonderful time. My compliments to Becki.” Not a propitious beginning.
Yeah, well. We sluts have ways of improving everything.
Do you ever quit! Benson rolled his eyes.
Persistence pays off. Look at what it got me for my twenty-first birthday.
What did it— Jerry was cut off.
“Guys! Hey, Guys!”
They turned around as one and saw Becki running toward them with a large bag. “I’m so sorry!” She stopped in front of them, panting. “Here, brought you dessert.” She held the bag out. “Man, I can def tell you were a team now. You look like all the rest of them, the way you don’t talk to each other and all.
Dead silence fell at her words as for the first time all three realized they hadn’t been talking to each other for the past several minutes. Benson managed to speak first. “So what’s for dessert?”
Becki beamed. “All your favorites. On the house.”
“Make sure you get a massive tip from us, Becki.” Benson pecked her on the cheek. “Take care of yourself. We’ll see you around.”
“You’d better,” Becki said, then turned and ran back into the restaurant.
They watched her go, then Rodney slung his arm around Jerry shoulders and they walked back toward. So I guess we’re done synthesizing.
I guess so. Benson shook his head and unlocked his car. So where are we going, since we’re obviously not staying here.
Jerry let them work it out while he poked through the dessert bag.Wow, I think she put the entire damned fridge in here. There’s like eight kinds of dessert..
Yeah! Rodney leaned over his shoulder and snatched out a long, white box. Chocolate Dream, my first favorite.
First favorite? Jerry turned to look at him, amused.
Rodney licked chocolate cream from his finger, then leaned forward and kiss Jerry hard. Then he reached out and hit something, and Jerry yelped as he tipped forward when his seat fell back. He wound up half in the seat, half on Rodney.
Benson rolled his eyes. You are not screwing around – especially with food – in my car.
Then I guess you’d better find us a room. Rodney grinned, one hand slipping under Jerry’s shirt.
Grumbling, Benson made sure the desserts were out of harms way and gave his car directions.
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Date: 2006-04-09 03:17 am (UTC)And man, SCAU just completely throws "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" to the way side.
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Date: 2006-04-11 11:49 am (UTC)Pshaw. Mouse mouse!
Hehehehe.