Dalton lit up a fresh Yeheyuan and inhaled deeply. Dix did the same thing, the sparks illuminating his tired, bloodshot eyes.
It had been a very long day.
After getting back, they'd told Miller everything there was to tell. If the CO seemed tense before, now he was downright anxious. When they were through, he'd put the base on high alert. Dix and Frost remained behind to oversee patrols, while Dalton had taken out a recovery team to pick up the pieces of the lost rover. Both for examination and proof. And because the Confederacy recycled just about damn near everything if they weren't leaving it to rust somewhere.
To complicate things even more, the radio had gone out.
This happened often, and Dalton had figured that it would be back up by the time he'd finished up with his recovery operation. Only, it wasn't. Even though the operation had taken longer than he'd anticipated. He'd driven out there with seven other fully armed and armored Marines, locked, loaded, and ready to fight if need be. They'd ridden out in a pair of rovers and an old cargo hauler. He'd put most of the Marines on cleanup detail and guard duty around the site, and had taken one other, a Corporal named Baker who seemed pretty on the ball compared to the others, and had gone looking for signs of Philbrick.
Four hours later, there was nothing.
And to make matters worse, when they got back comms were still down. As soon as he got back, Miller had put Dalton on technical detail to try and troubleshoot the problem as Dalton was, sadly, one of the more technically-minded of Gamma Seven's populace. He thought Frost might help out, because Ghosts were supposed to be pretty smart in a number of ways, but she had nothing to offer. And so he'd spent the rest of the day increasingly frustrated and irritable as he looked through everything that could be wrong with the radio.
They had found nothing, but that didn't necessarily mean it wasn't on their end.
"Did you see anything out there?" Dalton asked.
He and Dix stood outside the Armory now, out of their suits of armor, leaning against the wall and watching the activity in the base. It had died down a little, but not nearly as much as normal when the sun set.
"Nothing," Dix replied. "Keep thinking about that weird thing we saw."
"Yeah, me too," Dalton said softly.
He could see it in his head. The weird body, the long tentacles, the way it bobbed gently in the wind. Or had that been imagined? He was sure he'd seen something, something alive even, but what? He'd be questioning it a hell of a lot more if Dix hadn't seen it, too. He might have worried that the neural screwing they'd done with his head was finally taking its toll, but even the worst side effects rarely resulted in visual hallucinations. Or, if they did, you would be way far gone by that point.
"You think Frost knows something? I didn't think too much of her bein' here before–sometimes Ghosts just show up–but now…" Dix glanced at him.
"Yeah. I get you. I can't tell for sure if she's lying or not, but…" He sighed and then shrugged. He didn't want to tell Dix that he trusted her, because Dix would just think he was losing it. Maybe he was. It had all been going so well, after so much suffering, and now two of his fellow Marines were dead and they had a blood-soaked mystery on their hands.
"I gotta sleep," Dix said finally, taking one final drag on his cig and then flicking it away. "See you tomorrow."
"Yep."
Dalton regarded his own cigarette unhappily. It was his emergency pack, kept locked up in his quarters. He hadn't wanted to dip into the stash, but today had warranted it. And he imagined the next several days would, too.
With a sigh, he finished it off and flicked the butt away. He needed sleep, too.
"Sergeant."
Dalton nearly jumped out of his own skin when he heard Frost's voice behind him. He turned around sharply, finding her standing in the doorway to the Armory, regarding him with icy blue eyes. She was out of her armor, down to her trim, immaculate uniform.
"Frost," he managed, getting his pulse back under control. He was more than jumpy after today.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you...force of habit," she said, and he was surprised by how genuine her apology sounded.
Had he ever heard a Ghost apologize?
"It's fine," he said, "what'd you need?"
"I want to speak with you...in my quarters." With that, she turned around and disappeared back into the Armory.
Great. This was exactly what he needed. He followed after her, preparing for the worst. Maybe she'd been prioritizing the mystery all day long but had been keeping a mental tally of all his little infractions. It was frustrating, pick any backwater outpost in the whole of the Confederacy and you'd find a dozen 'infractions' on a slow day. It was all bullshit, too, because it wasn't like the brass actually cared about patriotism and loyalty.
They just wanted meatbags to shoot bad guys and take bullets, no questions asked.
Frost turned out to have set up her home in one of the disused storerooms at the back of the Armory. She had a bed that was little more than a blanket, a pillow, and a bedroll on six crates pushed together. Her armor and rifle sat on and around a workbench in the corner. The only other things in the room were more crates.
"What did you need to talk with me about, Specialist Frost?" he asked, standing at attention once she closed the door behind them.
"This isn't an interrogation or an inspection, you can relax," she replied. "I just wanted to ask your thoughts on the situation."
"I think I covered it pretty well in the debriefing," he said.
"You went back out there, did you find anything new?"
"No."
She seemed like she was fishing for something, or...maybe not. He couldn't tell what she actually wanted with this line of questioning, but it somehow seemed like a smokescreen. She leaned against her workbench, crossing her arms, looking vaguely uncomfortable.
"You must have theories," she said finally.
Dalton studied her, feeling like he was on thin ice here. He did have his own theories, but they weren't the kind you shared with an agent of the Confederacy.
She sighed. "Look, I'm not going to turn you in for anything. I don't care if you hate the government. That's not why I'm here."
"Why are you here?" he asked.
She pursed her lips. "It's classified," she said finally, "but it doesn't have anything to do with anyone at this base, and I'm not in the habit of reporting people."
Despite everything, despite all of his experiences with Ghosts, all the stories he'd heard, and believed...he believed her. And he didn't like that, because he genuinely couldn't tell if it was his gut telling him that, or his cock.
It had been a long time, and she was an exceptionally attractive woman.
Probably the most...beautiful wasn't quite the right word, because he was hard pressed to call such a lethal woman beautiful. Captivating was a lot closer. She was probably the most captivating woman he'd seen in a year. Her red hair was pulled into a ponytail, her sharp cheek bones and hooded eyes more pronounced in the harsh light overhead, her amazingly fit, lean, tall body displayed perfectly in her formfitting uniform…
Her expression changed suddenly. She almost looked amused.
Crap, had she 'heard' those thoughts?
He knew it was forbidden for Ghosts to read minds, but some could, and they sometimes did.
Screw it, he thought.
"Fine, if you really wanna know, I think the Confederacy either lost control of something, or let something loose on purpose," he said. "I know: psycho conspiracy theorist here. Chargeable offense. But that's what I think."
"Why do you think that?" she asked, her expression growing more serious.
"I've been here for months, and if there was something capable of ripping open CMC armor and a rover like a can opener, I'd've heard about it. At least rumors. And there's always crap on the comms network, rumors, scuttlebutt, all the usual shit. But more and more people have been saying they've been seeing weird stuff in the skies, or weird creatures in the distance."
"What kind of creatures?" she asked.
"Things that hop. That's the only consistency. Things the size of dogs that hop. But they're always too far off to tell for sure. I haven't seen them myself, but usually the rumors are all different. I've heard the same shit from multiple outposts. And now our comms are down. Plus, a Ghost shows up and acts all mysterious for no obvious reason."
She sighed. "The reason I'm here is...boring. It isn't related to conspiracy theories. I'm just as surprised as you are."
Again, he thought she might be lying, but it was nearly impossible to tell, even without the suit. He decided to go for broke.
"All right, level with me," Dalton said, crossing his arms and fixing her with a hard stare, "why'd you really call me in here?"
"What do you mean?" she asked, and the slightly startled look that came onto her face told him he'd hit a nerve.
"Did you really just call me in here to chat about conspiracy theories?"
She opened her mouth to reply, then abruptly turned around and placed her hands on the workbench, staring down at her Canister Rifle. "No, but you can go if you want," she replied.
He hesitated, lingering there for a long moment, unsure of what to do. He was getting the impression she wanted something from him, but she wasn't giving him anything to work with, and despite everything, she was a Ghost.
They were dangerous, and you never quite knew when you were riding the razor's edge with them. Though abrupt shifts in their reactions like this were a good sign you were headed for trouble. He decided he'd pushed far enough.
"All right."
Dalton turned away and prepared to leave, but stopped when she spoke up.
She was so quiet he barely heard her, but he did.
"I'm lonely." She cleared her throat. "I thought you might appreciate that."
He turned back around. She was still at the workbench, staring down at her rifle. "Why?" he asked.
"Just something about you...I read your file. Got a feeling. Feeling was stronger once we actually met. But if I'm wrong, if you don't care...I won't be mad. I'm not your responsibility."
Dalton, all at once, felt like he'd been chucked out the back of a dropship at high altitude. He felt utterly lost. In his heart, he knew that only some Ghosts were truly emotionless. The rest more suppressed them, or had them suppressed. He knew, statistically, that there must be some out there who had the same emotional range and depth he did, but had to suffer in silence most of the time. Frost turned around and looked at him.
When their eyes connected, something clicked in his head, and he was reconnected to that part of himself, buried somewhere deep in his core, that had never truly died. Sometimes it flickered, and certainly it was diminished from what it once was, but it was something that he often hated as much as he loved, something he knew the Confederacy would love to stamp out if they could. It was empathy. Another person was suffering, and he wanted to help.
"I don't mind staying and talking, Frost," he said.
The smallest hint of a smile touched her lips. "You can call me Ari...if we're alone. My friend used to call me that."
"You can call me Erik, if you want," he said. "Do you smoke?"
"I'm not supposed to," she replied.
He reached into his pocket. "That's not a no…"
She let out a small laugh. "No, it isn't. Uh...thanks. Yeah, I'd like one," she added awkwardly.
He passed her one of his Yeheyuans and got one for himself, then lit them up. He sat down and put his back to the wall near the door. She did the same with her workbench, and the two of them sat across from each other in the small room, smoking.
"I've never heard of Yeheyuans," she said, then coughed. "It's been awhile."
"Don't worry, it'll welcome you back right away," he replied. He took a look at his cigarette. "They're kinda rare. But they're a bit less rare on Mar Sara. I found them a ways back, always get them when I can. Kind of started a trend, now everyone tries to get them out here. Good for me."
"Oh. They're rare...thank you. For sharing it with me."
"It's fine," he said.
She took another pull on the cigarette and blew a small cloud of smoke. "I know it isn't fair to ask, but why are you here?"
He laughed. "Wow, that really isn't fair to ask."
"I'm sorry I can't tell you why I'm here. I just...can't. Not right now."
"It's all right. I get it. As for why I'm here…" He went silent, taking a moment to puff a few more times on the Yeheyuan. "I saw an opportunity and I took it."
She looked around. "This constitutes an opportunity? This outpost?"
He nodded. "It does, indeed."
"What kind of opportunity?"
"Peace. I wanted peace. And quiet. I wanted my biggest worry to be some dumb kid making me repeat my orders or a broken-down rover I could sit and screw around with all day long. I mixed it up in the shit for almost six straight years. Just fight after fight. Everyone wants a goddamned piece of us, and I can't even blame them. But the Marines were my only way out of something worse. And it turned out I was actually pretty damn good at it."
"I saw a lot of commendations in your file...and a lot of disciplinary actions," Ari murmured.
He sighed. "Yeah. 'Disciplinary actions'. Confederacy code for: we're puttin' your brain in a blender."
She winced, looked away briefly. "Yeah."
"I imagine you know a lot about that." She just nodded. "I'm sorry that you do. I don't play nice with brass who're up their own asses or stuffing their pockets while we grunts starve or just lying to us. So many lies. Always with the lies. I believed in the beginning. Yeah, cuz they made me, but also I wanted to. Even before the brain blender. I wanted to belong. I really thought I was doing something special. But eventually I figured out that most of the guys on the other end of my rifle were just pukes like me, doing what some asshole told them to do…" He sighed and fell silent. "Sorry, this isn't really a happy conversation."
"Happy is usually out of reach for me," Ari replied. "It's...cathartic, though."
"That's good, at least. Got any other questions?"
"You and Dix good friends?"
"Yeah. You'd think we're old war buddies, but we met when I rotated out here. He's...been through a lot. Way too much. I don't know how he keeps going. We got put on rover patrol my third night in and we just, I dunno, clicked. We just get each other. Friends who get you are a luxury in this line of work. Hell, maybe in life."
"They certainly are for me," she replied.
"What about you? I don't wanna dominate the conversation," he said.
She laughed cynically. "I'm just not used to talking about myself, it's actively advised against. But I appreciate the sentiment. And I don't-it's hard for me to connect with people. To open up. Usually there's no point. I'll be gone soon anyway. I'm rarely in a place for more than a week. And most of the things I've done...are all bad." She sighed suddenly and stubbed out her cigarette. "So, uh, you wanna…" She nodded her head towards the bed.
"...seriously?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I-wow. Okay. I...shit, I didn't even know you, uh, I mean yeah," he said, stubbing out his own cig and getting to his feet.
She rolled her eyes, doing the same. "We have sexdrives. It's just that most people are too scared to sleep with us. And, admittedly, given our reputation, that's not an unreasonable reaction."
He considered it, briefly, because this was both the last thing he expected to actually happen, and also the exact thing he'd been worried about not half an hour ago.
But hadn't he just been thinking it had been a long time?
And she really seemed interested in this happening…
"Well?" she asked.
"Yeah. Yes. I'm down," he replied.
"Okay. Lock the door."