I am responsible for myself and my actions; I shall conduct myself honorably, and live a clean and frugal life. I have responsibilities to my fellow citizens; I shall be loyal to them, and humble, because we are equal elements of a greater whole, and without them I am nothing.
The Octus Canon, Founding Principles of the Coalition of Ordered Governments, as Handed Down by the Allfathers, and Recited by Every Citizen.
"Quick time, march!" Ace bellowed. In unison the pair fell out of their run and into a brisk walk. Bri concentrated on keeping her breathing deep and even, and staying in step. Before, she might have layered her hands on top of her head, or perhaps bent at the waist to steal a few lungfuls of air. But now she kept a disciplined trek next to Ace, arms swinging a controlled distance next to her body.
They moved in sync for another hundred meters. "Fall out," Ace ordered, and Bri's carefully contained façade broke.
"Ugh!" she complained loudly, grabbing one elbow and stretching it out over her head. "I thought that run would never end!"
Ace gave her a small smile as he too relaxed. "I decided to push it for an extra mile. I know you're going to slack off this weekend."
Bri's eyes narrowed and she stuck out her tongue. "If you're so worried about me slacking off, why don't you take me with you?"
Ace's smile vanished and he rolled his eyes. "Not this again!" he groaned, turning back in the direction of the base.
"I'm serious!" Bri pattered after Ace. "Jace took me out on patrol last week. I've been outside the wire. I'm ready, Ace."
"You're fifteen!"
"Fifteen maybe!" she shot back. "Who really knows? Maybe I could have enlisted a year ago!"
Generally the two of them never had any disagreements. But this – the matter of Bri enlisting – was their only point of contention. The older she got, the more frequent this argument became. Ace insisted she wait until she hit age sixteen. Bri always argued that since Ace had picked an arbitrary date for her birthday, neither of them had any idea how old she truly was.
"What is it that you're so eager for?" Ace asked, his voice heated. "Are you that bloodthirsty? Can't wait to tear into some grubs, is that it?" Bri glared, but she didn't answer. "Well?" Ace probed again, not letting her get away with ignoring him. "School too boring? Sick of civilian rations? Really love the smell of gunpowder?"
"I don't want you to leave me!" she shouted at him, angry tears welling up in her eyes. "Every time you go out on a mission, I get stuck here, and I never know if you're coming back!" There was an embarrassed pause that passed between them. Bri tucked her face, ashamed, then started stalking off towards base.
"Hey," Ace's voice was calmer now, gentler. He grabbed her elbow and guided her back to him. She'd admitted more than she wanted to reveal, and he felt guilty for forcing her confession. "Look, I'm sorry. But your birthday-"
"Fake birthday," she interrupted, sniffing once.
"You registered birthday," Ace continued "Is only a few months away. You've been training for this for years – I know you're ready. You can handle a weapon. But combat isn't something you can ever truly be ready for. Killing grubs is one thing, but watching your buddies die bloody isn't something you can train for. I've seen men – good, trained fighters – die. Not because they screwed up, or because they deserved it, but because that's what happens in war. You've got the rest of your life for the battlefield. Enjoy your last couple weeks of peace. That's all I'm asking."
Ace hadn't let go of her elbow, and he stared deeply into her eyes, entreating her to understand. For a moment he thought he'd gotten through to her, until her jaw stiffened. "And if you're one of those good, trained fighters, and you die? And I could have been there – and stopped it? How am I supposed to live with that?"
Ace fought the urge to roll his eyes again. "Bri, I'm not going to die." She started to interrupt again, so he raised his voice. "And even if that does happen, it's not on you. When are you going to realize it's not up to you to save the world?"
She didn't answer, so Ace tucked her under his arm and continued walking her to the base. Bri folded her arms against her body and bit her lip. She didn't want to save the world. But Ace was her whole world. He was her best friend, her protector, her guardian. How could she explain to him the whole-body terror she felt every time he went on a mission? Every time he headed out past the wire she wanted to beg him not to leave her. Because he was right – good soldiers got killed every single day. So if she couldn't keep him here with her, then she would settle for the next best thing – being there, with him.
"When are you leaving?" she asked in a small voice.
"Not for another day."
"And why can't you tell me where you're heading?"
"Opsec," he answered. "It's some kind of personal mission for Prescott. When the Chairman asks you to volunteer for an op, you kinda have to say yes." He jostled her with his arm, trying in vain to shake her out of her mood. "I'm probably just picking up some old family albums. C'mon, you want to see some baby pics of the Chairman? Prescott in diapers?"
She pulled out from under his arm, ignoring his efforts. "I don't like it."
"What? Prescott's baby pics?"
"The mission. It feels wrong. Prescott doesn't command Gears for missions – that's Hoffman's job."
"I'm sure Hoffman knows what's going on. It's probably too simple for Hoffman to care about; doesn't even blip on his radar."
"Yeah, and that's why you can't tell me where you're going." Bri's voice was pure acid. "Because it's too unimportant."
Bri stormed off towards the gated entrance of the base. Ace let her go, finally realizing that nothing he would say to her was going to bolster her mood. He watched her flash her ID card to the Gear on guard duty, who waved her through almost lazily.
Ace never would have admitted it to Bri, but he too felt nervous about the mission. Captain Dury – Prescott's personal guard – had approached him about his mission a day ago. He had been sworn to secrecy before they would tell him anything about it. A couple rumors had gotten out that Prescott had been recruiting Gears for a personal mission. Bri had known him far too well; once she had heard the rumors and figured out that he had a mission he couldn't tell her about, she'd put two and two together. Still, she didn't know any details.
Ace had sat in Dury's debriefing that morning with three other Gears – Sergeant Kim, Corporal Clay Carmine, and Private Opal. All selected for this mission based on their skills as well as their security clearance. Ace had almost scoffed at that – what security clearance? What the hell was the point in 'classified' past the end of the world?
Dury had thrown up a map of the lesser island chain atop the table they were all sat around. "During the Pendulum wars the COG had a series of research bases stationed around these islands." He pointed vaguely with a finger. "Vectus, Chesham, Romgar, and Barholm. We've received intel that the Locusts are planning an excursion to the islands to retrieve military intel." He tapped one of the smaller islands, furthest out of the archipelago. "Romgar in particular was a weapons research base. We believe this is where the Locusts are targeting."
"I thought we were under the impression the islands were protected from the Locust," Sergeant Kim said. "On account that the trench is too deep to tunnel under."
"Correct," Dury answered. "But they're not planning to drill there. One of our scouts has reported Locusts preparing Reavers for what looks to be a long-distance mission, based on the amount of supplies they're packing. The only long-range target we can surmise are these research bases. We cannot allow our own military intelligence to fall into the hands of the Locust."
Clay Carmine shrugged. "So hit them with the Hammer of Dawn. Toast the islands, and there's nothing left for them to gather. I thought Prescott was a fan of asset denial?"
Ace saw Dury's forehead crease just the slightest – irritation, maybe? With who, Carmine? Or Prescott? "The Chairman has informed me that there is intel on a weapon that we need recovered. It will be in the system under 'Maelstrom Generator'. Your mission is to travel to these islands, recover this intel, then plant charges and blow the base on your way out, before the Locust reach the island."
Ah, is that all? Ace thought to himself as Dury began going over the schematics of the base, and how to access the information they would need off the base's computer system. Ace came to understand his role in the mission; a sniper would be helpful for keeping an eye out over vast distances. He'd be the best suited for ensuring no one followed them out over the water. If the Raven arrived and found the Locust already ransacking the building, then he could call in the Hammer of Dawn strike from a far enough distance that the Locust wouldn't be able to escape the blast. Clay Carmine was a munitions expert – he had been a commando back before emergence day. Opal was familiar with classified filing systems and would be the best bet to find the needed files in the system. And Lieutenant Kim was just a good, all around leader. No, it wasn't a bad squad, even though Ace had never worked with any of them before. He still wasn't sold on the plan, but they had a day to tweak it until he was comfortable.
The only thing he was truly worried about was leaving Bri. And this time, he couldn't tell her why.
The rest of the COG wasn't expected to arrive for several more days, but Hoffman had radioed Delta and informed them that he was chartering a Raven and flying out to Vectes today. Either he didn't entirely trust Delta's inspection of the base, or he was sick of dealing with Prescott. My money was on the later.
There was a seventy klick buffer zone between Pelruan and Vectes. Two gears were always on patrol in the town, but the rest of us spent most of our time trying to get the base back up and running. The river running down from the caldera provided hydro-electric power, but the lights hadn't been turned on in a decade and a half. Most of what I did was hold the flashlight for Baird as he replaced blown fuses and rerouted power to essential systems. We talked as he worked – he'd explain what he was doing, I'd ask a question, he'd respond first with sarcasm and then an actual answer. Working with Baird actually wasn't that bad. I found myself almost enjoying the day as I passed him the tool he requested, or listened to him explain the difference between AC and DC current.
But deep down I knew my time here was running out. Once the COG arrived – and Prescott – I'd have a decision to make. And if I didn't make it quick, Prescott would make it for me.
Today, however, all of Delta was crammed into the 'Dill and heading down to the town to greet Hoffman once he arrived. Even though Mataki and Dom were already on patrol in town, it was a tight fit as Gettner and Mitchell had decided to tag along. I ended up in between Marcus and Cole. Their combined bulk smushed me to the back of the seat and made it a little hard to breath. Marcus' form was rigid, like he was purposefully trying not to crush me. Cole seemed to not realize how big he was. He kept turning and twisting to talk to others in the vehicle, inadvertently shoving me closer to sitting in Marcus' lap.
"Throw an elbow into his side," Marcus suggested, low enough that only I could hear him.
"I'm okay," I tried to say, but Cole had chosen that moment to lean back as he roared with laughter. The only place I had to retreat was into Marcus' bicep - where I got an eyeful of his tattoo: two crossed lancers behind his regimental emblem. I felt him sigh, and he lifted his arm to give me some extra room. I hastily retreated closer into Marcus' side as he gave Cole a shove.
"Watch who you're sitting on," he growled.
Cole's head twisted around, and he flashed me an apologetic smile. "Whoops, sorry, lil' sis." He scootched an inch to the other side. "Almost forgot you were there!"
Marcus wasn't familiar enough to curl his arm around my shoulder like Dom or Cole would have done. He let it hang over the backside of the seat at an angle that had to be uncomfortable. The others chatted around us – something about taking Cole on a fishing trip, and seeing how he handled the boat versus flying.
I had a million questions to ask Marcus, but I forced myself to wait. It was too likely that we'd be overheard, and I didn't want anyone to know what I had on my mind.
Hoffman's Raven had already landed when Gettner parked the 'Dill. Apparently she preferred to be the one driving, no matter what vehicle it was. I fell out the side of the vehicle, taking a minute to enjoy some personal space as Hoffman headed our direction.
"I decided Prescott could cope without me," he said as an explanation. "Wanted to get my eyes on the place. What's the situation?"
"The local townsfolk are still a little upset. Some of them blame us for the Stranded attack, sir." Anya answered him immediately. "They believe we provoked them."
"Are the local vermin rabid, or something?" Hoffman asked. "Never heard of Stranded attacking Gears."
"They've had soft targets for too long. They're not used to facing superior firepower."
"Well, they're going to get damn used to it now. Crazy bastards. Marcus, Prescott has informed me," the way he said those words made it clear what he thought of Prescott's information, "That we are to extend an offer of amnesty to our neighbors to the north. Those who haven't committed a capital crime, of course. Anyone willing to take the offer can mount up a week from today, at the naval base."
"I'll go extend the offer," Marcus said. "Need to tell them where they can collect their dead, too."
"Ask Bernie if she wants to go," Anya suggested. "See if she can point out any known criminals." There was a certain tone to her voice, a double meaning that I didn't quite catch. Marcus gave her a barely-there nod in agreement.
While they were talking I inched closer to Hoffman. "I need to speak to you," I whispered under Anya's voice. "Later, in private."
Hoffman turned to look at me, but I was already walking away and heading towards town. "Mataki is on patrol with Dom. I'll go fetch her. C'mon, Sam," I clicked my fingers and Sam trotted contentedly by my side. I examined the town as I headed down the hill, looking for any sign of Dom and Mataki. I spotted them far out near the jetty and adjusted course so I wouldn't have to walk down the main street. I could still see that civilian's face as he shot at me during the battle with the Stranded; I wasn't looking forward to running into him again.
Dom waved once he saw me, picking up the pace. "Hey guys," I greeted them, then turned to address Mataki. "Hoffman's here. He wants Marcus to head over to the Stranded camp again, give them Prescott's amnesty offer. Marcus said you should come and see if you recognize anyone."
Mataki stiffened, her lip curling just the slightest. "And Marcus told you this?"
"Don't shoot the messenger," I said in a sour voice. "I could give a rats ass what you do."
She gave me one more searching look, then turned and headed back up the hill where the Ravens were parked. "What is her problem?!" I asked Dom, knowing she was still within earshot.
"Give her time," Dom suggested. "She's…dealing with some things."
"Aren't we all?" I reminded him. "You don't see me jumping down people's throats all the time."
Dom cocked an eyebrow. "No?"
"Not all the time. Just when they deserve it."
He chuckled and continued on his patrol route. Sam and I fell into step beside him. We were heading back towards the town but I decided it was worth the risk to spend a little bit more time with Dom. We were always working – trying to prepare for Jacinto's remnant – that the times we actually got to talk were few and far between.
That is, when I could think of something to talk about.
"Have anything interesting planned for today?" he tried after a moment.
I considered telling him the truth, but chickened out. "Not really," I lied easily. "Just helping out wherever I can. You?"
"Cole wanted to check out some more storage rooms on the base, see if there's anything useful tucked away somewhere."
"Wouldn't Pelruan already have scavenged anything they can use?"
"Maybe," he agreed. "But our definition of useful may be different than theirs."
I shrugged, accepting that, when I noticed a young boy – probably around eight or nine – following along behind us. "We have an audience," I muttered to Dom. I originally thought that he was interested in Sam, but when I glanced back at him I noticed he was staring at Dom's feet.
"Whatcha need dem big boots for?" he asked when he noticed us staring.
"To stomp big grubs," Dom answered, smiling slightly.
"My uncle says the grubs will get me if I don't do my chores," the boy continued, giving Dom a thoughtful look. "Is that true?"
I did my best to choke down a laugh. "We got rid of all the grubs," Dom informed the boy. "So you don't have to do chores ever again!"
The boy's eyes grew wide in fascination. "Really?!" he exclaimed, then tore off down the road – probably to inform his uncle of the good news.
Dom and I shared a laugh as the boy turned a corner and vanished from sight. "You're trouble," I informed him as we continued on patrol.
He shrugged. "I miss being around kids," he said in a surprisingly honest moment. "I never had enough time to just be a dad when you were little."
A bit of my smile dimmed. "Yeah. Well, I didn't have enough time to just be a kid, so, we're even there."
I didn't mean to make the pained expression reappear in his eyes, but my words did just that. "Never mind," I hastily added. "Nothing we can do about it now, anyway."
"Until you pop out some grandkids for me," he said, a grin threatening to reappear on his face. "You know, Pelruan ain't a bad place to raise a family. I can keep my eye out for someone about your age…" He laughed at the strangled expression on my face.
"Yeah, laugh it up," I snapped at him. I pointed to Sam: "There's your grandkid. How about letting her up on the furniture once in a while?"
"You're young still. Plenty of time to meet a man, settle down, have a kid or three."
"Oh, my god. I am not having this conversation with you!"
"Anyone I should know about?" he teased. "Some lucky guy catch your eye? Or…maybe some lucky girl? No judgement here – as long as she makes you happy."
I felt the blood rise in my cheeks as I blushed – hard. "Nooo…" I groaned pitifully. "So stop!"
"Hmmm…" he rubbed his chin like he was considering something. "Lots of nice young boys in the COG. You got a preference? Brunette? Redhead?"
Blonde. My mind answered immediately, and my blush deepened. "Oh, there's a look!" Dom exclaimed when he caught my slight smile. "You do have someone in mind! Who is it? Someone I know? I gotta make sure they're good enough for you."
I ran a hand through my hair and let it fall forward to cover my face. For just a moment I considered pointing out that Dom himself was still young enough to have a few more kids, but that would only remind him of Maria, and Bennie, and my own childhood that he missed out on. And that would bring back that quietly agonized look I hated so much. So instead I tolerated his teasing. At least he was in a good mood today.
"There's no one," I assured him, dramatically rolling my eyes. "I mean, who would put up with me?"
"Who wouldn't?" he countered, nudging my arm as we headed back up the hill.
Later that night, the Gears all gathered together at Vectus naval base. Two members of Hoffman's personal guard were handling that patrols that night, so all of Delta was together for the first time in days. We all gathered in the mess hall and prepped dinner. One of the Pelruan citizens had given us a basket of fresh produce – tomatoes, squash, red and orange peppers – and everyone had been eyeing it eagerly. Fresh food was a luxury many of us hadn't had in ages. Sorotiki – evidently the best chef amongst the group – had decided to roast them, then give them a rough chop and serve them over pasta noodles. He'd even scared up some seasoning in the kitchen larders that had been dried and sealed well enough that he'd deemed them safe enough to use. The end result was an enticing dish that everyone tucked into. It was quiet while we all ate – no one wanted to empty their mouth long enough to talk. Even Baird couldn't find fault with our dinner.
After dinner there was some light discussion – mostly Hoffman, Anya, and Baird discussing the logistics of settling all of Jacinto's remnant into the base. Essentially they decided upon a lottery. Those drawn first would be moved off the ships and into the base - after the essential staff, of course. Once the established housing was exhausted, they would build new housing near the edge of the base, and move people in on a rolling basis. Some people would have to live on the ships in the harbor for the mean time, but it was a small price to pay for salvation.
"Okay, the chainsaws are a nifty bit of invention," Sorotki had an air of an old college professor as he lectured the group as we ate. "But why stop there? I think, we could go further."
"What did you have in mind?" Hoffman asked warily.
Sorotki grinned like a shark – all teeth. "Flamethrowers. Better yet – flamethrower chainsaws!"
There was a moment of shocked silence, then laughter. "Seriously, flaming chainsaws!" he insisted. "Why not?"
"If I had the crayons and the patience I could explain the 'why not'," Baird groused.
"What? You don't think you could do it?"
Baird's face turned an interesting shade of purple as he struggled between dismissing Sorotki's ridiculous idea, and defending his engineering pride. "Just 'cause I can, doesn't mean I would!"
"It's simply adding one more weapon to the lancer, right?" I piped up. I didn't care for Sorotki's plan but needling Baird was something I couldn't resist. "Bullets for long distance, fire for medium, and chainsaws for up close and personal. The perfect weapon."
"The perfect weapon that weighs fifty pounds! The damn thing would weight so much you couldn't aim for shit!"
"Bet I could!" Cole piped up, lifting his arms and flexing his rather impressive musculature. "Cole Train's used to carrying a heavy load!"
"Maybe sub out the chainsaw bayonet, in exchange," Dom mused, actually looking like he was considering the possibility. "Fuel system is already in place, so the weight wouldn't be that big of a deal."
"Fire. Next to live ammunition. Were all of you dropped on your heads at birth? On what planet is this a good idea?"
"No, no, no, you all are missing the point!" Sorotki insisted. "Flaming chainsaws! How cool is that?"
"If all you want is to set the chainsaw on fire, then you don't actually need a flame thrower," Anya observed. "Just some way of making the chain itself flammable."
"That would cut down on weight," I agreed. "No propellant system."
"You'd need a way to keep it from extinguishing as the chain spun," Marcus observed, joining in the conversation uncharacteristically. He was more relaxed on Vectus. He'd never exactly be joyful, but it seemed like he had less weight on his shoulders. "Unless you only ignited the guidebar."
Baird shot Marcus an incredulous look of 'You too?' "Set fire to the part of the gun you hold. Sure, super brilliant plant. You'd have four, five seconds tops before it became too hot to handle."
Mataki just shook her head. "Blondie, you protest too much. I just think you're afraid to admit you can't build it."
Everyone laughed at the murderous look Baird gave her. "Oh, I'll build it," he promised ominously. "But you gotta promise to be the first to shoot it."
"Housing for the civilians first, then flammable toys later," Hoffman said, rising to his feet. "Baird's too valuable an engineer to be fiddling around with harebrained inventions."
"Aren't most of his inventions harebrained?" Dom asked.
"Hey – I saved your life with those inventions!" Baird spat at him. "See if I do it again!"
Hoffman gathered his plate and cutlery. "I want everyone ready at o'six hundred tomorrow morning. Some of the advance party will be here tomorrow to get the dockyard rigs running. I want to make sure the Stranded don't get too curious and stick their noses where they don't belong."
A chorus of 'Yes Sirs" went around the table. Hoffman glanced at me for the briefest of moments, but I caught his meaning. Follow me. I watched him walk into the kitchen and gave him a ten second head start before yawning and stretching theatrically.
"Are you tired?" Dom asked, concerned. "I can walk you back to the room."
And Dom on the assist…"No, no," I waved him off. "I've got to take Sam outside, anyway. I'll see you guys later." Everyone chimed in on a version of 'goodnight' as I gathered my plate and followed Hoffman into the kitchen.
The entrance to the kitchen were two large, swinging vinyl doors. Just beyond them the Colonel was up to his elbows in sudsy water, scrubbing one of the pans Sorotki had used to cook our dinner. He inclined his head at the empty spot next to him: "I'll wash, you dry."
"Alright," I agreed nervously. The tub in front of us was a large, industrial sink with overhead sprayers for rinsing. This kitchen was designed to feed thousands of Gears in a day. Cleaning up after the handful of us would be simple.
I nervously chewed on the edge of my lip while Hoffman passed me another roasting pan. "What did you want to talk to me about?" he asked.
There would be no going back after this. I squared my shoulder and looked him in the eye, displaying a confidence I didn't feel. "I want to be a Gear."
Hoffman's eyes trailed down my body. Another's man's gaze might have felt predatory, but there was nothing sexual about it. It was the look of a soldier evaluating a weapon for combat use – field stripping it down to its parts, then putting it all back together and slamming the slide home and testing the trigger pull. "What are you, a buck twenty in your boots? You think you can swing full armor?"
"I can fight," I told him. I grabbed a towel Hoffman had set out earlier and started drying the dish in my hand. "I've lived outside the wire for years. You can ask Marcus if you need a reference."
"Sure he wouldn't just tell me what I want to hear?"
I shook my head. "Marcus wouldn't lie for me. Not about this." I suspected Hoffman knew that about Marcus, though. His question had felt like a test.
"So if you've lived outside the wire, why join up now? Why not earlier – before we kicked the grub's asses?" Hoffman was shrewd. His gaze hadn't wavered from me once, and I could feel him reading every slight muscle twitch or blink. If I tried to hide or circumvent any of his questions he'd know it before I opened my mouth to lie. To get what I wanted I'd have to lay everything out bare.
"Because I was issued a birthing order when I was sixteen." For people who violated the law there were typically one of three extreme punishments. Well, four, if you counted Marcus being thrown in prison, but he was the exception. If your crimes were severe enough then you'd earn a firing squad and summary execution. Just below that was either conscription into the army for young men, or the birthing farms for young women. To be honest, I'd sooner have the execution.
"And who signed off on that?" Hoffman asked.
"Chairman Prescott."
Hoffman increased the intensity of his stare, as if he were trying to read something on the wall behind me and was irritated that I was in the way. No doubt he had expected some low-level circuit court judge who had tried to use me as an example. Being sentenced to a farm by the Chairman himself was a rare thing indeed. "Shit, kid," he said once some of the shock faded from his eyes. "What the hell'd you do to get on Prescott's bad side?"
My fingers tapped nervously on the lid I was holding. This was the difficult part – deciding exactly how much I could share, and what I needed to keep to myself. "I tried to save my friend's life," I answered honestly, yet vaguely. "And instead I got him killed."
"And?"
"He was killed on a personal mission for Prescott. And when I demanded answers, he said it was classified. So I told him to fuck off."
Hoffman squeezed out the soapy water from his sponge. "You have a habit of doing that."
The barest of smiles crossed my lips. "I suppose so."
Another moment passed in silence as we considered the other. I could tell Hoffman was curious about the 'classified' comment, but evidently he respected the meaning of the word. Either that, or he was planning on asking Prescott himself. "So…" I ventured slowly. "Prescott recognized me back in Port Farrall – I'm sure of it. I don't know what he has planned for me once he arrives, but I guarantee it won't be pretty. When I was Stranded he couldn't touch me, but if I become a citizen, then I have to answer to him. But…Operation Lifeboat offers pardons to Stranded in return for service in the COG. And as a Gear…I'd answer to you."
I didn't know Hoffman well enough to read the slight twitches in his expression. "If you pardoned me," I continued in a soft voice – not quite begging, but close. "It would all go away. The birthing order. Prescott's power over me. Hell, even being Stranded. It just…vanishes."
Hoffman gripped the edge of the sink and leaned forward. The steel protested slightly against his weight. "I can pardon you," he said almost gently. "I'd do that for Dom without thinking. But I don't have to conscript you. Being a Gear is a hard, dirty life. I'm sure Dom wants more than that for you."
I had dropped my gaze to the floor– too embarrassed to look him in the eye – but my head snapped back up at that. "But I want to fight!" I protested. "Sir, I've wanted to be a Gear almost my whole life! I've trained for it! I taught myself how to kill grubs. I'm a damn good shot; I'll make a good soldier!"
"There's more to being a Gear than fighting, although that's a hell of a lot of it," Hoffman said. "It's obedience. It's devoting yourself to something bigger than you. It's putting aside what you want now for what's best for the whole. Think you can do that?"
"Yes 'sir," I answered immediately.
He crooked an eyebrow. "It's learning not to tell your superior officers to 'fuck off', no matter how much they deserve it. Can you do that?"
I grinned. "I…I'll work on it."
He chuckled, then sighed. "I expect that by pardoning you, I'm going to piss Prescott off, correct?"
"Without a doubt."
"That shouldn't be a plus, but it is." He emptied the sink and plucked the towel I was holding so he could dry his hands. "We don't have a boot camp anymore, so it's going to be a lot of on the job training. I'll have Anya draw up some paperwork for your pardon in the morning. And Santiago?"
"Sir?"
"If you make me regret this, I promise I'll drop you for a hundred up-downs every time I lay eyes on you."
"Yes sir."
Author's note: And there it is! Bri is officially becoming a Gear! It's been a long time coming, but I'm super excited about what's coming next, and I hope you will be too!
Thank you all for reading! Leave a review before you go, or I'll drop you for a hundred up-downs! (Kidding! Kinda...)
