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James

The track at Turner Lake was buzzing with race participants practicing. The day was warm, especially in the dry heat of Escondido. James was sweating as he checked over his bike.

James had been happy to finally get to invite Tom to come along with him. It was good to have his friend back. He hadn't been quite the same since the incident with the gang, but that was understandable. James would never forget the sight of Lola taking on that room full of thugs by herself.

Tom was watching him work with little enthusiasm. "You okay?" James asked him as he stood up, wiping his dirty hands on his jeans.

"Yeah."

"How's Lola doing? Haven't seen her in a few days. Did she go back to L.A.?"

"No, she's moving back here today." He didn't seem to want to talk about it, so James let it go. But he wanted to see his friend smiling again.

"You want to try it out?" He gestured to the bike.

"Sure!"

James showed Tom where the additional controls and boosts were on the electric bike that he wouldn't have seen on a bike like Lola's. Tom strapped the helmet on and pulled out with James looking after him in satisfaction. He settled on the grass to watch.

"That was nice of you." A familiar voice said from behind him. He turned around to see Lola leaning against a tree.

"Oh, hi Lola! I didn't know you'd be by," he said, swallowing.

"Tom told me where he was going today, so I thought I'd come and see how he's doing." She stepped out of the shade, her hair catching the sun and bringing the lighter shades out brilliantly. He watched her as she fluidly walked across the grass and sat down next to him, legs crossed.

"What's all this, then?" she asked, gesturing to the activity on the field. The track was overrun with bikers and coaches preparing for the run. A light haze of dirt hung in the air at the apex of the nearby turn, where every few minutes they heard another engine whir by. On the far side of the field, a crowd was standing around an information stand with a banner above it that read "Registration."

"Cinco de Mayo race. I'm finally old enough to enter this year, so my Uncle paid my entrance fee. First prize is twenty thousand creds!" He grinned, imagining the things he could do for his parents with that kind of money.

"Wow. That's-" She cleared her throat. "That's a lot." She was chewing on her lip, watching her brother when James looked over at her again. He noticed with concern that she had a fading bruise on her neck. After a minute, she smiled over at him.

"Your Uncle hooked you up, huh? That was generous."

"Yeah, he's really nice. Check it out, Tom's not bad!" He pointed at the cloud of dirt rising behind his bike at the turn.

They watched Tom race around the track twice before he pulled in. He yanked off his helmet and ran to where they sat with a huge grin on his face.

"Did you see me, Lola? I've never gone that fast before!"

"You're a natural! I wonder if my bike would go that fast," she mused.

James laughed. "Probably not. You'd need a new drive converter at least to get up to competition speed."

"Do you know how to do it?" she asked him.

"Nah, I'm not really good with technical stuff like that. Uncle E says I know just enough to break it." He grinned, not at all bothered. "It's boring. I just want to race!"

Lola nodded, her eyes back on Tom. "Could I talk to you for a minute?" She asked her brother quietly.

James watched her pull Tom under the tree. They kept their heads together, intent on their conversation for several minutes before they came back.

"Um, James, how much is the entrance fee for the race?" Tom asked nervously.

"Let me see." He dug in his backpack for the paper that his uncle had given him and handed it to them, smoothing out the wrinkles first.

Lola squeezed his shoulder. "I have just enough," she said quietly. "Can you do it?"

"I'll try, Lola." He looked up at her and they shared an intense look. James looked back and forth between them in confusion; usually they did nothing but argue. Things had been so strange with them ever since the other night.

"I'll take care of it, then. You get to work." Her face abruptly broke into a beautiful smile that made James' insides turn to jelly.

"You'll help Tom learn how to ride, right James?" she asked sweetly.

"Sure! It'll be fun to race together. Like a team! And hey, here's the guy who fixed up my bike for me." James dug a pen out of his bag and wrote an address on the flier. "Tell him you're a friend of Emilio Vega's."

"Thanks, Jimmy." She smiled and ruffled his hair before walking away. He watched her go.

"Jimmy. Hey, Jimmy!" Tom had to shake his arm to get his attention. "Come on, show me how to do that first turn. I almost bit the big one."

Lola

Lola's hopeful mood lasted right until she got to Raul's place. She took off her helmet and placed it on the seat of her dirty bike as it sat next to Raul's line of expensive cars gleaming in the sun, and realized how over her head she was.

Who did she think she was? Did she really think that her brother could win that race with only a few months to practice? At best, they would escape and live their lives in fear, forever looking over their shoulders. At worst, they'd both end up part of a crime scene. And that was if he won.

Other people have choices, she thought, her chin dropping. Other people had parents and boyfriends and something to look forward to. All she had was the pain of watching her brother go down a dark path and being sucked down with him. The fact that she'd taken his place hadn't accomplished anything, not really. He was in almost as much danger as before. On top of everything, she had managed to attract the nastiest bastard in the lot, who knew exactly how to get to her. All he had to do was threaten Tom.

No choices. Just reactions. Her solution was only temporary. If she was going to come out on top, she'd have to do something. Soon.

"I was just wondering where you had gotten off to."

She turned around to face Raul, plastering a smile on her face. "I told you I'd be back by five."

"And here you are, but just barely. I didn't want to send the boys after you. How was your brother? Still safe and sound?" He smiled like a Cheshire cat underneath his glassy shades.

"He's fine, thanks for asking," she answered drolly.

"Glad to hear it. I'm glad you got your side of the bargain too. I love it when things even out." He draped an arm around her neck and walked toward the house, a classic Southern California mansion with a red ceramic tile roof and pink stucco. She moved her legs quickly to keep up.

"Go up and put on something classy, we have to go to a memorial service tonight at a potential business partner's. Clean up with some medi-gel too, you're still all marked up from the other night." He waved his arm towards her body, fingers waggling with distaste. He abruptly released her when they got inside, causing her to stumble a step.

She grabbed the curved banister and jetted up the stairs before he could touch her again.

"That's the kind of enthusiasm I like to see!" He laughed up the stairs after her. His hard soles tapped against the marble floor as he walked to the back of the house.

Of the several bedrooms upstairs, one had already been assigned to her. A few other women lived there, part of Raul's personal harem. She sneered in distaste. Those skanks were probably diseased, and she was basically sharing a rapist with them.

She opened the closet and found it already stocked with clothes from the previous tenant. The clothes were the kind she hated: one size fits all, because they fit like they were vacuumed on. She wouldn't be caught dead in any of that garbage on a normal day, but she literally would be caught dead if she didn't obey.

Obey. That rat-fink bastard. She was no tool to be pushed around. Her fists clenched, nails digging in, when she reminded herself for the hundredth time that she could, and would, be pushed around all he wanted. Because otherwise he'd go after Tom.

She flipped through the clothes angrily. This can't last. I will go fucking nuts in this place.

Her hands were shaking so hard that the dress she was gripping fell off the hanger. She let the gold lamé monstrosity flutter to the floor.

Her whole life had been one catastrophe after another until she realized that she had to be calculating. Her move to L.A. had been carefully orchestrated, her career planned out. First, wait tables. Then tend bar. Then manage a club and make enough money to send Tom to a good school. Six months after her high school graduation she had made all of that happen but the last part.

That whole plan was shot to shit, but she knew that she could do it again. When it came right down to it, all it took was planning. Just mark the major players and plant some seeds.

She stood up straight. There were major players right here. Dangerous ones, certainly, but dangerous ones who didn't know who they were dealing with. If she played her part, marked the people she wanted to cultivate, planted her seeds… she could get everything they needed for a fresh start. Maybe even new identities. Patience is where most people dropped the ball, but patience she had in bucketloads when she knew what the end goal was. If she could keep her temper in check.

She'd have to play her part very well.

Lola walked down the stairs an hour later. Her hair was piled on top of her head, her body swathed in a fitted black dress that suggested more than it revealed. It was the most tasteful dress on the rack, mostly because it completely covered her rear end. The heels were absurdly high, the black ribbons wrapped several times around her ankle before criss-crossing up her calves, but she had no trouble walking in them. It wasn't the first time she'd tarted herself up, and evidently it wouldn't be the last.

Raul was waiting for her in the foyer with a few others. He threw his hands out to the sides when she walked in the room.

"Now, that's what I'm talking about. Finally, not looking like you got fucked by a few dozen matones." Two of the nameless thugs she was studiously ignoring chuckled knowingly. She tried to keep her disgust off her face, walking out the door without looking back.

They got into the back of one of Raul's cars and pulled off.

"We have a stop to make, mano. A little gift from one of the clients to pick up." He gave his driver an address.

The driver nodded and lifted off smoothly towards downtown San Diego. The skyline was dimmed in the tinted windows, long shadows streaking across the ground. Feeling like she was in one of the vids and none of this was real, Lola did her best to seem disinterested as the car drove to the rooftop entrance of one of the buildings near the high-rises. The door on the far side of the patio opened and a man in a service uniform came out to hand a datapad to the driver through the window. He handed the datapad back to Raul without looking at it before lifting off again.

Raul pulled off his shades and grinned as he scanned his print into the datapad to activate it.

"Check this out, chica. One of the perks you'll learn to enjoy being in the Sangre Carnal." He held out the datapad to her. She leaned forward, curious despite herself.

Her jaw dropped. "Tickets to the UCC?" She snatched it from him to examine it.

"I have VIP seats. If you're a good girl, maybe I'll take you with me."

Her nostrils flared in distaste, but her eyes stayed riveted to the VIP passes, noting that it was in an ideal location. The Urban Combat Championship was the most followed team sport in all the human colonies. There hadn't been anything like it since the Roman Empire, but gladiator-style combat had come back in after the outer system settled. She'd heard they even watched it on Palaven. The champion team toured the world like rock stars after they did their time in the ring, and the host city reaped the benefits of attracting everyone with the money to attend.

The UCC usually sold out in hours, and this year San Diego had won the bid to be host city. An underdeveloped section of downtown was being converted into the ring, encompassing several city blocks. The whole city was talking about it.

But to make nice with Raul… well, she'd already decided to do what she had to do anyway. Might as well get something enjoyable out of it.

She felt the car descend and come to a stop. The door opened and she saw before her a spectacular edifice that put Raul's tacky abode to shame. Her gut fluttered with mild apprehension as they strode through the monolithic doors. An elegant Asian man was busy greeting guests on the far end of the foyer.

Their turn approached, and finally they were standing in front of the gentleman.

"This is Cong Jia," Raul said to her, gesturing at the man.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jia," she said.

"The pleasure is all mine. I wish that we were meeting under better circumstances, my dear, since I have lost my lovely Celine. She made all of this ugly business worthwhile. What was your name, my dear?"

"Her name is Lola." Raul rolled her name in his mouth, his tone totally inappropriate for this occasion.

She barely managed to stifle her embarrassment. She held out her hand. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you. Please, make yourselves at home." He bowed slightly over her hand and turned to the next guest.

"You're good at this," Raul said to her as they walked away. "Me, I don't understand all the fuss. I mean, what's another dead puta?" He hissed the last part into her ear. She shuddered and fought not to lean away, her body erupting into gooseflesh.

Fortunately, Raul lost interest in his taunting fairly quickly, a trend she hoped would continue. It didn't take long for her to be left at the bar on the back deck while he mingled.

"Lookin' the part tonight," a voice said from beside her.

She turned and saw an enormous hulk of a man whose skin was almost as black as the ebony bar she leaned against. He was also familiar.

"Chege. Didn't know you ran with this crowd."

"Not by choice. But I guess it's the same for you, from what I saw the other night." His voice was deep and low, like thunder on the horizon.

"You were there?" She flushed with humiliation that someone she actually knew had been at her brutal initiation. "What were you doing there?"

"Wasn't there by choice, believe me. I got there after they took you to the garage."

Then she made the connection. She would never forget the voice telling her to shush in the shower, the gentle hands. It was one of her few lucid moments.

"Ah. So it was you. Thanks for that."

"Not a problem. I did what I could." He kept his gaze aloof, watching the crowd as if she were beneath his notice. He shook his head.

"Last week you were managing the downstairs at the Afrikka Club, now you're his bitch. Ain't life a joy."

"I'm nobody's bitch. He just doesn't know it yet. And you own the damn club, so who's the bigger bitch for being at that shindig?"

He chuckled. "Almost forgot what a mouth you have on you. Raul is gonna eat you alive." He swirled the ice in his glass, then signaled the bartender to make him another drink.

"Not if I can get me and my brother out of here first. Do you know anyone who can forge IDs?"

"Maybe… if I get the information I need."

"Oh yeah? What do they have on you? Couldn't you just pay them off?"

"I refused to work with them, so they dug up some dirt on my dad. He's a police commissioner. Now they're using the club as a front to deal red sand and he has me running errands like a damned messenger boy." His mouth twisted in distaste, which he covered by taking a drink from the glass the bartender had just handed him.

"I need to get back to my business. You'd probably have more luck than me getting close enough to find out what to do about it."

"Possibly."

"We shouldn't talk any more here. Let's catch up later."

"Right." She picked up a glass of wine from the bar and nodded to him.

"Nice to see you, Chege."

"You too, Lola. Take care of yourself."

She sauntered away to Raul's side with a sway in her hips, her mood already lifted.

Mark one. She was on her way.

Mason

At least I don't have to worry about the cops here, Mason thought as he walked down the steps. Cong had provided him with an immaculate suit of clothes. While he wasn't the type to dress expensive, he liked the way the slick outfit contrasted with his rough appearance.

Eyes followed him as he walked through the mansion to the back deck, a wide expanse of gardens and plasti-crete and shimmering pools with koi. He could feel eyes on him wherever he went, burning into the Blue Suns tattoo on his neck. It made most of them give him a wide berth, for which he was grateful.

The memorial had been going on for more than an hour already. Mason had taken his time getting to Cong's. He was really only there for the private dinner afterward; this kind of scene was not his thing. But at least there was a lot of eye candy walking around on the arms of many punk-ass looking gangsters. This was some crowd his sister had fallen in with.

He smiled at every pretty face he saw out of sheer habit, at the same time bemoaning the absence of any asari, a taste he had picked up in the Lower Wards. He dodged conversation easily, picking up a drink from a bar next to a string quartet before making his way to the far end of the patio, partially swathed in shadows from the setting sun.

It was surreal to be standing here under the stars surrounded by all this opulence, but the Lower Wards suddenly looked honest compared to the facade that every face wore here. He looked over the roof of the house and saw a star winking at him. It almost made him homesick for the Citadel.

He waited for the sun to set before moving towards the house again. He turned a corner in the path just as a voice came from the other side of the path, behind the lush greenery. Another step revealed a man with blood-red ink on the back of his neck talking to a stunningly beautiful young woman.

"I'll collect you in a bit, puta. Wait here for me. I got some business to do. Can't mix it with pleasure." He sucked at her neck, her face contorting into an expression of extreme distaste, which she controlled before he looked up to kiss her on the mouth. He turned away.

"Try not to fuck anyone while I'm gone," he called back to her jovially as he passed Mason, tipping his shades down to give him what was probably a conspiratorial grin. Mason grimly watched him go before walking up to the girl, who was wiping at her neck.

She looked at him warily. "No matter what that asshole said, I'm not gonna fuck you."

He couldn't help but laugh. "Just came over to see if you're okay. How did a girl like you get hooked up with such a prick?"

"Bad luck and bad choices." She spat out. Her eyes sized him up, then she went on. "I don't really have a choice. Gotta do my time. If I can make it more than a week without killing the son of a bitch."

Something in her tone made Mason think that she might actually do it. "Huh. Good luck with that."

"Yeah, right." She sat on the bench behind her. He began to move away. "You wouldn't happen to have a smoke, would you?" she asked.

"Not on me, sorry."

"That's a shame. I don't smoke often, but it would feel good to get a little relief." She sighed like she was a million years old. "This is the last place I thought I'd be a week ago."

"I know how you feel. Celine was my sister."

Her head jerked up. "Oh, god, I'm so sorry. Here I am going on about my situation and you're-"

"Don't worry about it. Celine isn't hurting anymore. Looks like you are, though."

"Is it that obvious?" She put her elbows on her knees and rested her head in her hands. "My brother joined up. He's just thirteen. I couldn't let them take his future."

"So you took his place," he guessed.

"What else could I do? He didn't know what he was getting into."

"Did you?" Mason wasn't sure why he was even interested in her little sob story, but there was something magnetic and powerful about her, like she would explode at any moment and take the whole city with her.

"Yeah, I actually did. Doesn't make it any easier to be his plaything." She turned her head and spat.

"And there's no way out."

"Not while they can hold my brother over my head." She stared at her shoes. "This is it for me."

He could hear her teeth grinding.

"For what it's worth, I know how you feel. I lost my woman to slavers a long, long time ago. I tried to find her, but it was too late. At least your brother is still alive."

"I suppose that's true. The thing is, if I could get access to his network, I could probably figure something out. But he's so paranoid it will be damned near impossible."

"Are you good with that kind of thing?"

"Oh, yeah. Always had a knack for hacking. Got a scholarship once… a lifetime ago." Her voice trailed off. He almost laughed. She couldn't be twenty years old and she was talking about lifetimes. The comical aspect of it faded when he saw the look on her face as she tilted back to look longingly at the stars.

"Look, if it'll help, here." He slipped off the slim black bracelet on his left arm. "Cong gave this to me. It's untraceable, off the grid. I don't know what to do with the damned thing." She stared at the gift open-mouthed.

"Just don't get caught with it. That fucker'll kill you if he gets half a chance. I know the type."

"You're telling me." She gazed up at him in wonder. "Do you know how much this thing must have cost? I can't believe this. You don't even know my name."

He put out his hand. "Mason Black."

She took his hand wonderingly and shook it. "Lola."

"No last name?"

She shrugged. "I have one, but after you change it a few times it doesn't matter." Her grim tone confirmed his earlier suspicions. This pretty little thing had lived a lot in her short time alive.

"I know just how you feel," he said again. She smiled up at him, a genuine smile that was so beautiful he briefly wished he was twenty years younger. His mouth curved upward slightly in response, his toothpick pointing at his ear.

Raised voices came closer from the direction of the house.

"You'd better get out of here, Mason." She bent down and slid the bracelet under the black ribbons lacing up her ankle, blending in perfectly.

He stood up. "Good luck, sweetness. I have a feeling you'll come out on top."

"Thanks for that. For everything." It looked like she meant it. The corner of his mouth lifted briefly at her again before he walked away.

Later...

"Mason. I'm so glad you stayed." Cong rose from his leather chair, one of a set that faced the gardens. An archway framed the dining room table, already set for three.

"I said I would. Thanks again for the car."

"Found your friend? In good health, I hope?"

"Yeah."

They walked together into the other room. A gilded mirror faced the doorway, reflected the two of them over the table, Cong's slim elegance against Mason's brawn.

A small placard with his name in script was in front of one of the plates. Taking the hint, Mason settled, somewhat uncomfortable in these surroundings, into the cushioned chair.

"So, um, thanks for inviting me."

"Of course. You're family." Cong's reply, simply given, obtusely made Mason feel even more out of place. He tugged at his collar.

An elderly lady waddled into the room. Her face was deeply lined and powdered, her once-slanted eyelids almost drooping down past her cheekbones. She said nothing as she sat at the table, not even to her son.

The dinner proceeded with quiet ceremony, Mason growing ever more tense. He wanted to leave about five minutes into the meal. He chewed and swallowed, then listened to the others chew and swallow. By the end of the meal he was positive that Celine must have been out of her mind to live like this.

When the meal was finished, the old woman left without a word or a backward look. Mason was just wondering how rude it would be for him to bolt when Cong said, "Ah, finally. How would you like some brandy and a cigar?"

A grin broke across Mason's face. "Now you're talkin'."

Cong smiled as he decanted the liquid into two crystal glasses.

"I know that formal dinners probably aren't your usual cup of tea, but my mother is a stickler for formality. Celine didn't enjoy our Sunday dinners, either, but we had ample pleasures to make up for it."

"I had wondered about that."

"She brought civility back into my home. This house was my father's, but my mother and I rarely spoke. Celine brought us back together. She couldn't bear to think that I had a mother and wasn't talking to her on purpose." He dipped the end of his cigar in the brandy before he lit it.

"Sounds like her."

Mason took a sip of the brandy, then another, thinking that it didn't seem like they talked much anyway.

"That was a real crowd of winners you had here tonight. Did Celine hang out with them?"

"Not often. We both preferred it that way."

"I bet. I ran into a girl in the garden back there." He gestured toward the back of the house. "Some asshole was treating her like shit. She told me later she had taken her brother's place in the guy's gang. Pretty fuckin' sad. Celine wouldn't have been able to sit still with something like that going on."

"Who was the man?" Cong asked.

Mason described him and Cong nodded. "I think I know who it is. Interesting…" He stared into the darkness beyond the glass wall for a moment.

"Is there something you can do for her?"

Cong smiled. "She chose her fate, as you said. To get involved would be… messy. Not that I'm opposed, but to stir up a man like that is not wise without a clear benefit."

"The benefit would be helping out a beautiful woman and sticking it to that jerk. Sounds like a win-win to me," Mason said, taking another drink of the brandy.

Cong's chuckle surprised him. "That's almost what Celine would have said. I'm glad I invited you here, Mason. The investigation I ordered on you didn't tell me how much you are like her."

"She was a good woman. Um, just to satisfy my curiosity, what did you find out about me?"

Cong held his glass close to his face, enjoying the fragrance of the brandy as he spoke. "You served in the Alliance Marines with your friend Emilio, the one you visited the other day in Escondido." He smiled when Mason looked up in surprise. So he was keeping an eye on him. Mason wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"The military reported you MIA at the end of the First Contact War, but you resurfaced a short time later doing mercenary work with the founders of the Blue Suns. You left after one of them betrayed you and started your tattoo shop on the Citadel. That's the short version, of course."

"Pretty much everything, then."

"I also know that you had a habit of abandoning contracts so you could instead save people who had been forced into slavery. It didn't make you any friends when the Blue Suns changed leadership."

"No. It didn't."

"Your choices intrigue me, Mason. I'm sorry I won't have longer to get to know you before you return to the Citadel."

"Actually, Emilio asked me to change my ticket to stay for the spring. I think I'd like to take him up on it. I probably won't ever come this way again now that Celine is gone."

"Now, this is good news. You are welcome to stay in my home, if you wish, since you didn't like the hotel."

"I might for part of the time. I don't want to intrude too much on you or Emilio."

"Not possible, I'm sure. But we can sync schedules on your omni-tool."

Mason scratched his head. "Ah, actually, I gave it away."

Cong sat forward. "You what? To who?"

"To that girl. I don't know anything about those things and she said she needed to hack the guy's network."

Cong's eyes positively glittered. "You understand that you may have just signed her death warrant?"

"When someone says they know how to do something, I tend to believe them. You aren't going to help her anyway, so what does it matter?"

Cong's gaze became unsettling. Minutes passed. Then he relaxed in his chair. "Hmmm. If she can't do what she says, then it is her own fault for deceiving you. But if she can…" He laughed softly. "I will have a private, untraceable datalink to Raul Duarte's network. Interesting. You may have just done me a favor, Mason."

"I hope so, for her sake. You don't often see women like that."

"She did seem special in the brief moment when we met. Yes, perhaps she's worth watching more carefully."

James

A few days later…

James stood with his bag next to the door, shoes on. His eyes were locked with his father's. In the background, the news was playing on the vidcom, mixing with the sounds his mother was making in the kitchen.

"…forces have repeatedly stopped batarian attacks in the Verge, but small groups of infiltrators continue to get through defenses. The colonies continue to make pleas to Alliance military to…"

"I'm going." James said, crossing his arms.

Josh Sanders ran his hand through his unkempt hair.

"Something's gonna happen, I just know it."

"Nothin's gonna happen. We do this all the time."

Josh Sanders scowled and turned back to the vidcom, puffing despondently on a stubby cigarette.

"I don't like this." He mumbled, ashes drifting down the front of his shirt as he watched images of troops flash across the screen. "You out there with all those…"

"Those what?"

James crossed his arms across his chest and jutted his chin out. There was nothing his dad could have said that could have made James relent. These outings with his uncle were the highlight of his month. He hadn't been sure he would be home from his latest mission in time, fortunately just a short one, but just this morning he had received a message.

"Got a weekend pass. Planned something special. Pack light, we're camping again."

There was no way he was spending the weekend stuck in their little apartment. His dad wanted to keep him locked up like he did his mother, but as far as James was concerned, it was not ever going to play out like that.

The door buzzed. James grabbed his bags and ran out.

"Adiós Mom, 'bye Pop!" He shouted before the door shut behind him. He heard his mother say something muffled through the door, but he was already tugging on Emilio's arm.

"What's the surprise?" James walked backwards ahead of his uncle as they made their way to the elevator.

"You'll see." His uncle watched his excited movements with an amused look on his face.

They didn't have a long drive. They always had so much fun camping on Camp Pendleton's preserves. They passed through several gates, Emilio scanning them in with his omni-tool.

"Wait, aren't we going to the camping grounds?" James looked out the window of his uncle's car as it turned away from the familiar sign.

"Not right away. First, you get your surprise." Emilio Vega glanced over at his nephew with a smile. "You just have to promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

He turned back to the road, his smile widening into a grin.

"Don't tell your parents."

They passed several squads doing calisthenics and running in formation through the streets as they drove through the massive base.

"Why are they singing when they run like that?" James leaned out the window, the wind lifting his hair.

"They have to move together like a team. Like a single organism. Singing helps."

The car pulled to a stop in front of a huge clearing. Popping sounds resounded through the air. James could feel it on his skin.

"Why?"

He stared at the men lying on the field, shooting their weapons. He'd never been this close to a gun before.

"When you're in combat, you don't have time to talk things over. You have to do things without thinking about them first. So you train and train until it's all second nature, and the people you fight with will respond to you because they know you."

They met in front of the car. Emilio pointed to the prefab. "I'm going to teach you how to shoot today, Jimmy. You up for it?"

"Yesss!" Elated, James practically skipped into the prefab nearby. His imagination was running wild with images of explosions and weapons from his comics.

His uncle laughed indulgently. "We'll see how you feel about it when you get a taste of some kickback."

"Kickback?"

"You'll see."

The sergeant in the armory released several wicked-looking weapons to his uncle, who was growing by the inch in James' eyes. His uncle's large hands checked over the weapons with practiced ease, stowing each one in a crate with several packages of heat sinks. He'd known he was in the military, of course, but he only ever saw him at his house, and almost never in uniform.

"That's it then. Thanks, Sergeant." The two men nodded to each other and Emilio led the way out into the sun.

"Why are they doing it like that?" James asked as they approached the stalls on the far side of the field, past all the men shooting while lying on the ground. His attention immediately diverted to the crate that his uncle set down. "Which one do I get?"

"One question at a time." Emilio said. "That's called shooting prone, and we won't be doing that today. We'll be standing up. And you'll be shooting all of these."

"All of them?" His grin threatened to stretch right off his face.

"Yep. Let's start with this one, a Kessler V. It's small, but powerful. It doesn't have much recoil– that's when the blast makes the gun jerk back– but until you get some practice I want you to cup your hand underneath your other hand like this." He put his arms around James and positioned him correctly.

"There, that's right. Now just look down the sights. Do you see the target?"

"Yeah. When do I shoot?"

"When you feel steady. Get it lined up. Good. Now, focus your breath. Nice and easy."

James felt his breath come in and out of his mouth, watching the target sway around the end of the barrel. The wind fluttered across his face and one eye drifted closed.

Pop. The little explosion vibrated through his arms.

"How did that feel?"

"Good!" But good didn't even come close to conveying how it felt.

"Now, drop your other elbow a little bit so you'll be more steady…"

The sun dropped lower on the horizon as the lesson continued. Each time he fired, he got a jolt of adrenaline. Having that much power in his hands, directing it where he wanted it to, made him feel on top of the world. But it wasn't until the sun was touching the treetops that he fell in love.

"What is that?" He leaned over the crate gazing in wonder at the final weapon.

"A shotgun. It's called a Hurricane, made by Elanus Risk Industries."

"Hurricane, Elanus Risk Industries." James muttered, eyes glittering as he took in the mean-looking weapon.

"Are you memorizing all of this?"

James nodded, one finger running down the thick barrel of the gun.

"Oh yeah? Prove it." Emilio folded his arms across his chest.

"Kessler V, Hahne-Kedar Indutries. 17 shots before overheat. Stinger IV, Devlon Industries. 19 shots before overheat. Razer VII, Kassa Fabrication. 23 Shots before overheat and a seventy-five percent accuracy rating. That one was sweet, Uncle E, can I shoot that one again?"

"Not now. Go on, I'm impressed. The assault rifles?"

"Diamond Back II, Hahne-Kedar Shadow Works. 41 shots before overheat. Didn't hit much with it, but the Gorgon IX…" James looked skyward, sighing happily.

Emilio was nodding. "Not bad, not bad at all. I hope you take your school studies this seriously."

"Some of it. But it's not as exciting as this!" James reverently lifted the bulky shotgun from the crate.

Emilio hit the button on the wall and the target zoomed closer. James chewed on his lip, looking from the target to the weapon in his hands.

"Shoot from the hip or the shoulder. Generally you'd only use it in close quarters, when the enemy is too close to miss."

James nodded in understanding.

"Now we talk about kickback. The rifles are all modded to protect from recoil, but this shotgun has some major power. It'll jump back at you, so be sure to give it some room. Don't hold it against your chest- a little further away. Good."

James took a deep breath and let it out of his mouth, rounding his lips into a circle. The barrel came up and his left hand wrapped around the barrel. The index finger on his right hand circle over the trigger… and pulled.

The entire weapon bucked in his hands, startling him. It was as if the thing had suddenly come alive and was about to turn back and attack him. He gripped it harder so he wouldn't drop it, gritting his teeth.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "How did that feel?"

He twisted around to look up at his uncle. "Awesome!"

"Take a few more shots and we'll wrap up. Tomorrow we'll do some outdoor shooting."

James' heart was still racing when the two of them pitched their tent later that evening. James mis-tied the lines twice as he replayed the events of the day in his mind.

"So how are things going at school?" Emilio asked him as they ate their MREs inside the tent.

"You're thirteen now. Any girlfriends yet?"

He gave his uncle a sardonic look. "Are you serious? Look at me." He gestured down his chubby body. "No bueno."

Emilio shook his head. "You'll grow out of that, James. I was the same way. You just have to find something active that you love to do."

"Well, until then, I'm invisible. Especially in that school."

Emilio leaned forward, setting his dinner aside. "I've actually been meaning to talk to you about that, James."

"About what?"

"There's a scholarship for the ROTC program at the private school near my house. Started last year. Since you liked what we did today, I thought you might like to apply for it."

"ROTC?"

"It's like an early officer's training program. Gets you ready to enlist. Would you like that?"

"I think so, if I get to do more stuff like we do together." James' eyebrows furrowed as he considered. "Near your house? How would I get there? Would I have to live with you?"

"That would probably be easiest way, if your parents would allow it. If not, we could work something out."

"What about when you go offworld?"

His uncle smiled. "I've received permanent orders for Pendleton. I'm designing a new training program for Special Forces."

"You're staying?" He grinned excitedly at his uncle. "Yes! Special Forces– is that like N7?"

"That's right. The N7 designation is given to Special Forces who have completed all six levels of training in the program."

"Special Forces." James said dreamily, leaning back against his pillow. "Sounds cool."

"It's hard work, and that program is invitation only. You have to be a serious badass to even get noticed."

Serious badass. New goals were forming. Then he remembered his home, his life, and he sighed dejectedly. "How am I supposed to be like that?"

Emilio reached forward, squeezing his arm. "You'll have your day, James. All you have to do to get noticed is to figure out what you want and go for it, full force. Sé fuerte."

"I want lots of things right now, but they don't happen no matter how much I try."

"Your goals aren't in reach yet. You have to start with the ones that are, and then the others can grow."

Made sense. It was still a little depressing that there was so much time left before he could be noticed by the people who could give him what he needed to have adventures like he dreamed up. Adventures with guns and adventures with women… women like Lola.

They were quiet for a few minutes as they packed up their food and trash and settled down to bed. The electric lamp was shut off, but James could see the shape of the moon through the thin tent material above his head.

"Hey Uncle E?"

"Hmmm?"

"Would girls notice me if I was in Special Forces like you?"

He heard his uncle laugh in the darkness. "Oh, yes. That they would, James. That they would."

Visions of scopes and barrels were dancing in his head as he went to sleep, the smell of heat sinks still in his nostrils. I wonder what it would be like to be in Special Forces, he thought as he drifted off.

One day, he was going to find out, if it was the last thing he did.